


Art Song and Aria

by SnarkyBreeze



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: A Plant Wrote This, Aged-Up Yuri Plisetsky, But not for sex reasons, Canon Related, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Depressed Katsuki Yuuri, Drinking, Explicit Language, Fluff and Angst, Gay Panic, Karaoke, M/M, Musician Katsuki Yuuri, Mutual Pining, Operas, POV Alternating, Prompt Fic, Romance, Singer Victor Nikiforov, Singer Yuri Plisetsky, Slow Burn, Swearing, Tumblr Prompt, Viktor is a gay mess, christophe and phichit are supportive best friends, for singer reasons, musician au, opera singer au, prompt 97, singer Katsuki Yuuri, victor nikiforov is bad at feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-04-01 00:09:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 43,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13986252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnarkyBreeze/pseuds/SnarkyBreeze
Summary: Katsuki Yuuri is one of those dime-a-dozen classical baritones competing for recognition and prize money on an international level.  He's 23.  His name makes him seem strong, but he finished last in today's competition.  He's gotten this far off of hard work and the support of his teacher, Celestino Cialdini, and his accompanist-turned-best friend, Phichit Chulanont. But after a crushing defeat, he's not sure he has what it takes to even start his singing career, let alone continue it.Meanwhile, Viktor Nikiforov has won five international competitions this year alone.  At 27, he's already starting to receive offers for small opera productions and concerts.  He mainly competes to pay for his travels and to see his friends.  He just wants to drink, to unwind, and to not have to talk to anyone.





	1. Je te veux

**Author's Note:**

> Basic terms:
> 
> Soprano: highest female voice  
> Mezzo-soprano: mid-range female voice  
> Alto/Contralto: lowest female voice  
> Countertenor: highest male voice  
> Tenor: high male voice  
> Baritone: low male voice  
> Bass-baritone: lowest male voice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri battles with high emotions after a competition in Sochi, Viktor really needs a drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I link song titles in case you might want to hear them, but the important ones in this chapter are _Don't Cry Out Loud_ and _Elephant Love Medley_ (Referred to by movie title _Moulin Rouge_ in the text)

[Je te veux](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JvKmBgxC_s4)

 

“Viktor never fails to surprise me.  Ever since I first heard his singing, it’s been an unending chain of surprises.”

“…he also crushed the Federation Aria Competition!  This will be his fifth victory this year!”

“What about Yuuri Katsuki?  He didn’t perform like his usual self today.”

Hushed voices echo through the lobby of the Svyatoya Cecilia Concert Hall as singers, accompanists, and coaches mill about.  The snow swirls thick and lazy outside, and Katsuki Yuuri thinks he’s going to be sick.

This was supposed to be an easy competition.

He sang his staples – [Ein Madchen oder Weibchen](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1x4BjciYg18) and [Non piu andrai](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yz8n2tVyGwc). They were his saftest choices.  And yet he flubbed his runs, simple as they were, in the first, and as stupid as it seemed, he couldn’t manage to shake the humiliation it afforded him, and the second came out stiff and affected, resulting in more than a few awkwardly-pronounced words.  Not only that, both pieces are Mozart, and he’s certain the lack of diversity in his program will cost him presentation points.

Not to mention, he’s hardly able to conceal his depression even in a professional manner.  His dog died last night.  And he wasn’t home.  In fact, he hasn’t seen Vicchan or his family in five years, since he started his training as an operatic baritone.  His parents said they understood, and they were proud of him, but he’s not sure they’ll be singing the same tune after today.

He hasn’t spoken since his slot, he’s only sat, tucked away on a bench in the corner, waiting to hear the bad news.

“Yuuri…”

Celestino hovers with a little apprehension at his student’s shoulder.

“Don’t listen to the others.  Let’s take a walk.”

Any minute, scores will be posted on the easel a few yards away from where they’re sitting.  Yuuri’s already given up on the prize money – he knows he missed that train – so his hopes are set on anything, _anything_ other than last.

“I still can’t accept what happened,” he mutters, hitching his shoulders high to bury himself deeper into his scarf.  At twenty-three, this is the first time he feels like maybe music school was a mistake.  Maybe moving to America was a mistake.  His friends at home are settling down, getting jobs, having kids, and here he is, lonely, strung-out, and struggling to place in _yet another_ international competition, just to do the thing he loves best.

 _The only thing I really know how to do_ , he thinks.  God, he is such a failure.

 _No_ , chides the part of his brain that speaks in his therapist’s voice.  _Reacting negatively to stressors is not failure._

The reflux from last night’s stress-induced pirozhki run is really starting to burn his throat.  It’s not like he meant to eat five of them.  Honestly, he can hardly remember doing it.  He was so cut up about Vicchan…

“Actually, I’m gonna…” he mumbles and all but shoves Celestino out of the way before running to the bathroom.

Nothing better mirrors how empty Yuuri feels than this, he thinks, dry-wretching in one of the stalls.  He feels so sick, but he didn’t actually eat anything before the competition.  Shaking, he sinks down, pivots to land on the seat, stares down at his phone.  This is the worst shape he’s been in since high school at least, mentally _and_ physically.

Vicchan’s face looks up at him with adoration from his lock screen. 

Unsure if it will ease his nerves or just make them worse, he thumbs in his passcode and calls home.  The phone rings a few times before he remembers his family is probably asleep.

However, a few moments later there’s a soft _click_ , and Hiroko’s voice is chirping sweetly in his ear.

“Hello?” she practically sings.

“Hello?” Yuuri quavers, unsure how to break the news that once again, he’s disappointed everyone.

“Yuuri!” She sounds tired, but happy to hear from her son.

“Mom, were you sleeping?  Sorry,” he starts, but his mother cuts him off cheerily.

“Yuuri, Yuuko-chan showed us how to connect to the live stream on the competition website and Tak-kun even ran a cable from the computer to the television!  We’ve been watching in the common area all evening!”

Yuuri’s insides turn to ice. _A public viewing?_

“Oooohhhh my god, Mom, I’m so embarrassed,” Yuuri sighs.  His family has been trying for years to use his image as some international opera star to boost traffic to their little ryokan back home in Hasetsu.  Unfortunately for them, he is far from a star – he thinks maybe others are able to use their status to some advantage at home, like Viktor Nikiforov, Russian native and Yuuri’s idol since seven years ago when he first saw the older man in sing in a competition in Tokyo, dragged along by his teacher while she judged.

Anyone who knows him knows Katsuki Yuuri has been head-over-heels for the tall, charismatic tenor since that very first glimpse.  

Viktor is a natural.  Unlike most tenors Yuuri has heard, whose voices tighten as they ascend in pitch, veins bulging in their necks and faces red, Viktor sings with ease and clarity, allowing his arms and shoulders to move freely and expressively with the music.  He floats through his arias with grace and raw emotion.

Yuuri has heard he was fluent in every language he sang.

Yuuri has heard a lot about Viktor Nikiforov. 

_Oh, Mom is talking…_

“…ak-kun was telling your father and me how voice cracks are unavoidable sometimes, especially when you’re under stress.  I know timing has been unkind to you, son, what with Vicchan and all…”

He hears his mother choke a little at that last part.  Their dog’s recent passing has been pretty hard on the whole family.

“I’m so sorry,” Yuuri manages, feeling the all-too-familiar pinpricks behind his eyes as he fights to hold back tears.  “I… I messed up.”

It’s too late now.  He won’t even manage to squeak out a goodbye at this rate.  He hangs up the phone and droops into his hands, unable to fight off the crushing disappointment he’s brought upon himself.  All of the stresses of the past week begin to flood through him, out of him through his eyes, falling in fat droplets onto the screen of his phone.  Vicchan beams up at him through the splashes.

Yuuri’s chest is tight.  He prefers to cry alone but this time feels different… He’s never felt so truly _alone_.  He doesn’t even know what his next move is going to be.

Under his gasping hiccups and sobs, Yuuri doesn’t hear the bathroom door open.  He does, however, see a pair of leopard-print shoes approach the door of his stall, and he has just enough time to process that he’s got company before one of those shoes lifts off the floor and it feels like the door is about to be knocked off its hinges.

The crash of boot against metal echoes around the restroom for a moment.

“Uhh… sorry… I…” Yuuri stammers in English, scrambling to pull himself together.  “I think there are other stalls open?”

He opens the door to find a young man, fair and pretty but with dark, sullen features, elbowing his way into Yuuri’s space.  If Yuuri was unable to breathe properly before, he fears by now he may have already taken his final breath. 

He recognizes the kid as Yuri Plisetsky, a countertenor from the junior division, although anyone unfamiliar with the opera scene might not recognize him as someone who is even aware of classical music.  His long, blonde hair is contained in a black hood.  His suit and tie hang open to reveal a tee-shirt printed with the face of an otherworldly lion; his suspenders hang at the sides of his skinny-cut slacks.

Yuri Plisetsky looks _angry_.  No.  Yuri Plisetsky looks _incensed_.  This Russian punk can’t be any taller than Yuuri is, and yet he manages to look down on him like he might look at a piece of rotting trash.

_What the hell?!_

“Hey,” the kid growls in heavily-accented English, jabbing an accusatory finger in the direction of Yuuri’s face, “I’m competing in the senior division next year.  We don’t need two Yuris in the same competition.  Just quit already, you _moron!_ ”

He sucks his teeth, dripping with contempt, and leaves without another word.

Yuuri thought he’d be scared, but how is this any more unbelievable than his day’s already been? He stands, shocked, for just a second before releasing his breath in a wry, incredulous laugh.

He’s probably right.  Even if Yuuri quits singing, who’d notice?  There’s tons of young talent just waiting to replace him.

The scene out in the lobby is somewhere between cheerful and somber when Yuuri returns, indicating to him that scores must have been posted.  Yuuri doesn’t care who placed where.  He knows already who won; everyone does.

He scans the crowd for Celestino’s long, thick ponytail, but is met first by Phichit, his accompanist and best friend, returning in time to support Yuuri as he reads his score.

Phichit’s face is cautious.  That’s not good.  He approaches with an expression of growing concern and places his hands gently on Yuuri’s shoulders.

“…Last?” Yuuri guesses, and the lack of response is all he needs.  He’s all cried out, but he lets Phichit draw him into a compassionate hug all the same.

“Don’t give up,” his friend whispers in his ear.  “You are capable of so much, Yuuri, today just wasn’t your day.”

“I never said I’m giving up…” Yuuri almost grumbles.  Yeah, he never _said_ , but…

Phichit pulls away but keeps his grip on Yuuri’s shoulders.  “Have you given any thought to summer programs yet?”

The age-old question.  It’s sign-up season for summer programs, and Yuuri has been spending his spare time bargaining with the conservatory’s A/V department to have his audition videos ready to send out, as soon as he can decide…

“…uhhh…”

Phichit doesn’t seem to register his hesitation.

“Are you going to stay in Detroit with me?  Yuuri?  You could even think about Chicago or Columbus!  Then I could stay on as your accomp…”

“Peach, I’m sorry, I just don’t want to think right now.”

“…even just part time.  You still have a chance in the US.”

Yuuri shoots Phichit a practiced smile and breaks away to brave crowd still lingering around the scoreboard.  He needs to see for himself.  Pushing past a few familiar faces, he approaches the easel and feels that same leaden drop in his abdomen.  It looks just as bad as it feels.

  1. Viktor Nikiforov - tenor  
2.  Christophe Giacometti – bass-baritone  
3.  Jean-Jacques Leroy - baritone  
4\. Cao Bin - tenor  
5\. Michele Crispino - tenor  
6\. Yuuri Katsuki - baritone



His skin feels hot; all of a sudden he is incredibly aware of the people around him, the eyes that _must_ be on him as he takes in this horrible news.  His breath hitches and he wonders if you can suffocate purely from stress – it feels like there’s a grand piano on his chest.  He fights his way back out of the crowd and is about to go find Celestino and get the hell out of here when his name in a familiar voice makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

“Yuuuuri~!”

He spins around and almost collides with the source of the sound.  He scrambles to apologize but as he stammers out a few _I’ms_ the tall figure whisks by and his heart sinks.

Of course Viktor wasn’t talking to _him_.

The tenor heads to a nearby bench, shoulder-to-shoulder with Yuri Plisetsky, speaking in quick-paced Russian and apparently not saying anything Yuri wants to hear from the expression on the young man’s face.  They gather their things and turn back in Yuuri’s direction. 

Oh my god, he’s between them and the door.

No escape.

All he can do is stare, gawk, really, and hope Viktor didn’t hear a single moment of his performance that afternoon.

He must look so stupid, he thinks, judging from the bemused expression on that handsome face.  Viktor smiles politely and extends his hand.

“Thank you so much for coming!  It was an honor,” he practically recites.

Yuuri can’t even bring himself to shake Viktor’s hand.  He turns on his heel; he has to get _out_ , this is so embarrassing.  Viktor clearly didn’t recognize him as a competitor as he apparently did with a _junior_.

He grabs Phichit as he marches out the door, leaving a very puzzled Viktor in his wake.

“Yuuri, did you just…?” Phichit begins.

“Shut up, we’re going drinking,” Yuuri snarls.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“This place is one of my favorites,” Viktor says, dragging Christophe along by the sleeve of his coat.  Yuri Plisetsky trots after them, huffing in annoyance and the slight effort of having to keep up with the two taller men.  “They have private karaoke rooms in the back!”

Yuri groans.

“Viktor, I’m not doing that,” he whines.

“Then you won’t have as much fun as the rest of us,” Viktor snaps.  He whips out his phone and scans his contacts for any fellow competitors from the men’s and women’s divisions.  Mila, _check_ , Sara, _check_ , Michele, _check_ , JJ… Cao, _check_ … He even adds a few of the better-known accompanists’ and coaches’ numbers for good measure.

He jots down the bar’s name and address plus a long line of music note and microphone emojis and hits send.

The bar is packed, and they’re informed almost immediately that there are no karaoke rooms available.

“Bullshit,” Viktor says, marching to the back.  Yuri looks horrified.

“Viktor, can we just go somewhere else?” he asks.  “Like, haven’t you had enough singing for one day?”

Viktor wheels around, hand tangled in his long, silver bangs.  He just wants to drink, to unwind, and to not have to talk to anyone.

Before he can lash out at his younger compatriot, Chris’ voice steals his attention.

“Yuuri!”

The two Russians turn to find Chris peeking in the windows of one of the karaoke rooms.

Wait, _going into_ one of the karaoke rooms.

God, he is such a handful when they go out.  Viktor rushes over to chastise his friend and apologize to the room’s current occupants.

There are only two people in this particular room, but enough alcohol for four or five.  Chris is already helping himself to a glass of wine, his arm around…

 _Now that’s interesting_ , Viktor thinks.

The man on Chris’ arm is small, a little pudgy, with a mess of shiny black hair that cascades over his doe-brown eyes.  His face is pleasant, if not a little ruddy from the wine, but strangest of all…

“ _Him_?!” cries Yuri from the doorway.  “Katsuki?  Oh my God, this night can’t get any worse.”

Him.

The mystery guy that snubbed Viktor in the lobby of the music hall.  Who seemed so excited to see him at first, then froze at Viktor’s greeting and left without another word.

_So this is where he went, huh?_

“Chris,” Viktor says in French without taking eyes off – what was his name? Katsuki?  “Who am I meeting?  Am I supposed to know him?”

The Japanese man stumbles over to him with a stern glare.  Viktor almost takes a step back, but Yuri squawks behind him and he’s forced to remain where he is.

“My name is Katsuki Yuuri,” he drawls, lips curled into a smirk.  “I lost Federations and I lost today.  I’m a fucking _singer_ , Viktor,” he says, jabbing a finger into Viktor’s chest so hard Viktor gasps.  Yuuri tries and fails to conceal a giggle and pulls the older man down to his height by the loose ends of his scarf.

“… _et je parle aussi le français_ ,” he whispers, close enough that Viktor can feel his breath hot against his cheek.

Chris lets out an amused snort.

Viktor can feel himself turning pink.  Oh my God, of course.  How could he be so _stupid?_   He’s got to say something, _something_ to deflect Chris’ entertained stare, or, _Christ_ , there’s someone _else_ here too!  Viktor is embarrassed that he recognizes the Thai pianist above his fellow competitor.

“Yuuri!  My goodness!  I knew you looked familiar!” He stammers, shooting daggers at Chris from his eyes.  “Listen, about earlier… I… okay, I can’t pretend, that was pretty horrible of me, wasn’t it?”

Katsuki directs a haughty sniff at Viktor in response, but Viktor can’t seem to meet his gaze for an apology. His eyes, for some reason, are locked on Yuri, still hovering by the door. His expression is entirely unreadable – somewhere between anger and fear and curiosity – so Viktor takes the opportunity to wave sheepishly at Phichit.

“A pleasure, as always, Viktor,” the Thai man smiles.  “ _Yaa yǐi_ , your song’s about to start.”

Yuuri releases his grip on Viktor’s scarf and pats him firmly on the chest.

“If you’re going to mooch off our karaoke time, at least come sit down,” he says, spinning on his heel much like he did earlier that day.  Viktor complies, because hell, he’s not going to turn down an offer in favor of venturing back out into the cold.  Yuri will be furious but in what reality does the youngest of a group get to pick where they drink?  Not this one.

He reaches behind him and tugs the young man into the room, letting the door finally swing shut.

He recognizes the music instantly with a little pang of nostalgia.  Keys twinkle a simple, dreamy tune.  Phichit hands him a shot.  The same theme is reiterated in a lower pitch, drawing the listener back into reality and centering on the singer – on Yuuri – as a cue to start singing.

_“Baby cried the day the circus came to town. She didn’t want parades just passing by her…”_

The familiar sting of vodka, followed by its accompanying warmth, flows through Viktor in a swift wave, and immediately he thrusts his glass in Phichit’s direction for a refill.

_“So she painted on a smile and took up with some clown while she danced without a net up on the wire…”_

Yuuri’s voice is steady and clear despite his obvious intoxication.  He’s belting the piece in its original key – something Viktor isn’t sure he could even do – and absolutely owning it.  He fits this song perfectly.  His voice weaves and blends with the accompaniment as if he was creating the music with his own body.  Viktor settles back against the wall next to Chris and downs his next shot.

_“I know a lot about it, cause you see, Baby is an awful lot like me…”_

“A very classic countertenor,” he murmurs to his friend behind the privacy of their habitual French.  Chris laughs, choking on his wine as Yuuri dives into the chorus.

_“Don’t cry out loud, just keep it inside and learn how to hide your feelings…”_

_“Mon cher_ , Katsuki is a baritone.  He sang Papageno and Figaro today,” Chris says, leaning into Viktor’s vision just enough to ensure Viktor catches the look of incredulity on his face.  “My, you’ve really closed off this season, Niki.  I’m disappointed in you.”

Viktor shrugs him off and turns to refill his glass. 

_“Fly high and proud, and if you should fall, remember you almost had it all…”_

Like hell Yuuri isn’t a countertenor.  [Don’t Cry Out Loud](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PYNjL9_rCJc) went up to an E flat, at least, well above Viktor’s signature high C, and the Japanese man stood comfortably navigating that range with enough ease to improvise a little dance through the final chorus (interpretive as it was, reminiscent of the way Viktor used to wave his arms in front of the bathroom mirror as a kid).

Phichit is recording excitedly with his phone, and Yuri is hunched in the corner as far away from everyone else as possible, sipping his wine with a glare that could burn the place down.

“Peach, you’re up.”

When Yuuri steps down from the little stage he unceremoniously clinks glasses with his namesake, sneering playfully, causing the other to huff with pure ire.  _What is it with those two?_  

As Phichit starts into [Hips Don’t Lie](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gnUDvKEdke8) _,_ Yuuri collapses into the booth on Viktor’s other side.  His body is pleasantly warm and it’s _got_ to be the vodka that’s lighting little fires all up and down Viktor’s arm, right?

“You’ve got to make it up to me, you know,” Yuuri says, looking Viktor in the eye for the first time that evening.  The brown in his irises are flecked with gold, and Viktor isn’t even really sure why he notices that, or how, because the lights are so dim in this room, but the way they glitter in the glow is mesmerizing.

 _Say something_ …

“Oh?” he manages.

“I’m done with school in May,” Yuuri says as he presses all of his weight into Viktor’s side, and there goes that lip curling into a smirk again. “I want to move home, but that means leaving Celestino.  So come coach me! My family owns an inn in Japan, so you can stay there. Be my coach, Viktor!”

Viktor isn’t usually the object of this kind of flirting – it’s weird, he’s not used to it, but he’s not _not_ enjoying it.

“I think I can do that,” he replies warmly.  From behind him Chris’ deep voice ventures a suggestion.

“Seal it with a shot, Yuuri,” he hums, and the wheeze that follows is either wicked laughter or the result of Viktor’s fist ramming into his thigh.

But Yuuri is already on board, and a drink is in Viktor’s hand, and Yuuri poured it so it’s probably a little too much, but they down them anyway, laughing and sputtering, and all at once the tension in the room has melted away.

How he’s managed to miss out on this man until now will haunt him until the end of time, he’s sure.  He can’t shake the stupid smile off his face, but he doesn’t want to, anyway.  Yuuri’s charm is seemingly endless, like the doting little bumps and brushes and touches he has been throwing Viktor’s way, but never overstepping boundaries or bringing attention to it.

Or the way he cries with grace when he sings [_Time after Time_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7wBgcalM4c4)with Phichit, managing not to dissolve completely into a puddle like Viktor would have.

Or the way he strips with Chris in a very giggly rendition of [_I’m Too_ Sexy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tKy71O0eYXU), managing to make it funny and sexy and adorable all at once.

 _Those thighs could crush a man_ …

 Or the way he ribs at young Yuri all night, not out of spite, or dislike, just keeping him engaged. Eventually he even convinces him to do a song of his own.

“Ooh! A sing-off!” Hoots Chris, and Before Yuri can protest Yuuri is shoving the heavy directory into his hands.

“What?! No! Not with _him_ ,” Yuri stammers. “Not unless the clothes go back _on_.”. Viktor is aware he hasn’t stopped laughing for what feels like the past ten minutes, aware that he hasn’t felt that kind of release for ages, feels it in the way his shoulders relax and that funny warmth curls in his stomach. This is _fun_ , something he hasn’t even thought about a night out for years.

When Cao and Michele and the others make it to the bar, two more bottles of champagne have been ordered, and the two Yuris are head-to-head, viciously belting [Killer Queen](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VS54zmuEY3s) in each other’s faces, fighting to be heard above the other.  It’s the third consecutive song they’ve done like this – Viktor has never seen Yuri participate in something social for this long. 

Chris and Phichit – both remarkably sober although Viktor is certain they have been keeping pace with everyone else – are huddled together talking shop over two glowing screens, and Viktor is sitting alone – but not lonely.  His song is next.  His song with _Yuuri_ is next.

He was allowed to choose in secret, assured by Phichit that if he stuck to anything remotely related to musical theater Yuuri would know it.  The anticipation is killing him and at first he doesn’t know why.  He chose one of his karaoke staples, one he’s sung time and time again, alone and as a duet, drunk and sober.

Then he realizes the thing he’s really excited for doesn’t have anything to do with the music at all…

Russian Yuri drops the microphone and throws double birds at Viktor before grabbing Mila and exiting before the soprano can even get her coat off.

Japanese Yuuri, on the other hand, is chugging a water, still clutching his microphone.  Viktor sneaks up to the stage and grabs the discarded mic from the ground.  Instead of beckoning the other singer to the stage with him, he creeps over, flashing a grin at the snickering Phichit, and sweeps Yuuri into his arms.

“Love is a many-splendored thing,” he recites, gazing down into those brown eyes, wide with surprise and mild recognition, “love lifts us up where we belong, all you need is love!”

“What? Viktor…”

“ _All you need is love…”_

“Oh my god!” Yuuri cries, pulling Viktor up to the stage.

_“All you need is love…”_

“Wait, shouldn’t I do the lower p-“

_“All you need is love~…”_

And like that, they are both in it.  Yuuri must have watched [Moulin Rouge](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VxLaO8Xzjsk) at least as many times as Viktor has, because he doesn’t just know how to sing, he knows how to _move_.  Viktor chases him around the tiny room and Yuuri spins away coyly, only to wind up back in the crook of Viktor’s arm.

The chatter in the room has died down completely. Everyone is watching, breathless, transfixed. Phichit is not the only one with his phone angled at them. Viktor sees it, and Viktor loves it. He loves that there will be evidence, that some part of this will live on past tonight.

_“How wonderful life is now you’re in the world…”_

He pulls Yuuri close; the younger singer drapes his arms over Viktor’s shoulders, cheek pressed into Viktor’s chest. His fingers brush the back of Viktor’s neck, summoning goosebumps, playing in the short silver hair of Viktor’s undercut.

All of a sudden it’s very hard to be here in front of everyone – all of a sudden Viktor wishes they were doing this in private, away from the scrutinize eyes of their friends. He splays his hands out on Yuuri’s back, half holding him up, half holding him close. He can feel Yuuri’s heart racing against his own chest.

As the room joins in, covering the moon’s coda in raucous unison, Yuuri tilts his head up, standing on tiptoe. His lips brush Viktor’s ear and a chill seizes down his spine. He gasps at the icy shiver. Yuuri clutches at Viktor’s shoulders.

 _“Je te veux,”_ he whispers. _“Et je sais que me voulez aussi.”_

Viktor swallows down what would have been an audible gasp, even in the din that has ensued their duet.

And then Yuuri throws up on his shoes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations  
>  _…et je parle aussi le français_ = ...and I also speak French  
>  _Yaa yǐi_ = Darling/dear; Phichit uses this as a nickname for Yuuri because it sounds like a cutefied version of his name.  
>  _je te veux, et je sais que me voulez aussi_ = I want you, and I know you want me too.
> 
> If you like what you've read, I always appreciate kudos and comments! Hits let me know you're out there, Kudos let me know I have your attention, but Comments are the best way to show a writer your appreciation!
> 
> For nightly fic chapters and lots of reblogged YoI content, check out [my tumblr](http://kingfisherunion.tumblr.com)


	2. Stammi Vicino

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri returns home, Viktor needs a break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I link songs - there are only two this chapter!
> 
> There's also an opera reference easter egg somewhere in the chapter, I'll reveal it in ch3!

[Stammi Vicino](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4IjMAGw2l3o)

 

 **Кристоф:** You had fun last night.

_…you’re not asking?_

**Кристоф:** No, I’m not. Have you heard from him?

**_…_ **

**Кристоф:** Don’t tell me you texted first.

 **Кристоф:** Niki, why have you been typing for five minutes?

 **Кристоф:** oh my god

 **Кристоф:** You didn’t get his number, did you **_! !!_**

_no_

_Chris I’m so stupid._

_I deserve this._

_I didn’t even know who he was._

**Кристоф:** I did not invite self-deprecating Viktor to this conversation. Try again.

_I’ve never met anyone like him._

_I’m going to die alone._

_Remember me, but ah, forget my fate._

**Кристоф:** Aw, that is so misguided of you, honey.

 **Кристоф:** Look, either he’ll find you or you’ll find him or you’ll both find someone else. 

 **Кристоф:** Life moves on.

 **Кристоф:** Please don’t make this a repeat of that time Jonas Kaufmann complimented you on your singing.

_What do you know about him?_

**Кристоф:** Plays hard-to-get. And also is actually hard to get.

 **Кристоф:** Innocent and sweet but wicked when he drinks.

 **Кристоф:** Highly unobtainable, I’ve tried. He’ll destroy you.

_I’ll let him._

_Do you still have his number?_

**Кристоф:** Don’t you think you’d already have it by now if I did?

 

* * *

 

 

 “Yuuri!”

The piercing voice rings throughout the train station, and as Yuuri descends the escalator he finds himself surprised that anyone would even come to meet him.

He had told his family he was coming home, of course.  But he didn’t want to burden anyone with seeing to his arrival.  It’s been five years since his last visit to Hasetsu.  The old station even has elevated tracks now.

As he nears the floor, the source of the call slides into view.  _Oh god._

_Look excited…_

“Why are you skulking around?!”

“M-Minako-sensei?”

_Why is she here?!_

Yuuri’s old voice teacher thrusts a cardboard cup into his free hand.  The steam puffing from the lid smells like hibiscus and lemon.

“Welcome back!” she cheers.  “It’s been so long since I’ve even heard you sing!  Stand up straight, will you?”  She smacks his back hard, causing him to spit out his first sip of the fruity herbal tea.

“What, no coffee?” He grumbles, bobbing behind Minako as she cuts a path to the exit.  He immediately regrets it, and is relieved when she chooses to ignore him.

“All right!” She sings, dragging one of his bags behind her as she goes.  “Let’s get you home, then you’re coming to the studio so we can work out teaching schedules!  I would love to get in some master classes for this upcoming year.  Are you going to have time for that?  It doesn’t matter, I’ll make it work. We…”

He really hoped people weren’t going to make such a big deal out of his homecoming.  Of course his family will, and that’s to be expected; they haven’t seen him since the Young Artist Program he did in Tokyo two years ago – they’d closed the inn for an entire weekend to come out and see him.

It isn’t that he’s not excited to be home – he absolutely is.  This day has been his motivator for the past four months.  After his big loss in the Sochi competition, it was hard to shake off the failure.  He didn’t have any academic courses left, of course, only music practicums and performance seminars.  And his recital.  He skated by and just barely passed and left on bad terms with Celestino.

The only person who really knew what was wrong was Phichit, who was at least understanding enough to back off with his talk of careers and next steps.

Phichit is Yuuri’s only friend, but now they’ve both graduated and returned to their home countries and Yuuri doesn’t know if they’ll ever see each other again.

He should feel like he’s accomplished something after five years studying abroad.  But instead he feels like the only thing he’s got to show for it is lost time.

And Minako is the last person he wants seeing him like this - she'll draw the anxiety and the self-doubt and the failure right to the surface of him, force him to bear it in front of her.  She, more than his family, knows what he is capable of, and she'll be able to point out his shortcomings in an instant.

“-an’t wait to hear all about your last semester!  What did you sing for your juries?”

Minako turns to him with this question, and he quickly puts on his stage smile in response.

“I-uh-I didn’t have juries this semester because of my recital,” he says dismissively, hoping that answer is sufficient.  He doesn’t want to talk about that fiasco.

He certainly doesn't want her to know he had to present it twice in order to pass, having blanked and walked out halfway through the first one.

But this is _Minako_ , after all.  Nothing has ever slipped past her.  Before he knows it, Yuuri is listing off the pieces from his hour-long program – the culmination of five years of study to be presented to the entirety of the voice department and advisory staff.

“…and I finished it off with a really odd Poulenc cycle, [Le bestiaire](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kZBbebrdoT4), which Celestino thought was really cool for some reason.” 

Minako’s side-eye burns into Yuuri’s skin.  He takes care to keep his gaze forward; he can tell she knows something is up, and he just wants to get home and retreat to the bath where she can’t follow him and make him talk about how disappointed he feels in himself.

“It’s a pretty conservative program,” she’s saying.   _Of course it is, but it's all I could handle!_   Yuuri can feel the familiar hitch in his breathing.  _Deflect, deflect…_

“Minako-sensei,” he practically shouts, cringing at the sound of his own voice, “don’t you have lessons today?”

She stops, eyeing him suspiciously, and in the moment before she speaks, Yuuri fears he’s in for a thorough scolding.  Both the question and the delivery were less-than subtle. The question was valid enough; when Yuuri was still her student, Minako taught six full days a week. But he’s starting to feel guilty about is increasingly-noticable rotten mood, and rushes to correct himself with an imploring smile.

His teacher knows him too well to point it out.

“We’re closed today,” she says, leaving Yuuri huffing behind her, struggling to keep up as she plows full-speed up the hill.  “I barely have any students these days, anyway.  Hasetsu’s losing more and more people.  Hardly any kids are singing these days, and even when I do get students they want me to teach them that pop idol nonsense.  Or they’re middle school kids and I lose them when they realize it’s nothing but music theory and piano lessons until they go through puberty.”

She stands at the top of the hill when she realizes she’s lost him to the steep slope.

“I’m sorry,” he puffs, leaning on his knees to catch his breath. “I’m tired right now…”

 

 

There’s a pull at the back of Yuuri’s throat as they turn a corner and the gate to Hasetsu Hot Springs Yu-topia Katsuki rolls into view.  Some feeling close to nostalgia balls up in his chest, and although he can feel the familiar prickle of tears around his eyes he swallows everything down, sucking in deep breaths of fragrant cherry blossom and pine and letting himself remember the feeling of home.

He knows there are difficult conversations ahead, but for now there is no feeling more welcome than that of being back at the onsen where he lived out nearly twenty years of his life.

It feels strange walking in through the front, like one of the guests.  He feels the tension leave his shoulders as he steps into the familiar traditional architecture, and he lets his bags fall to the floor right in the doorway.

“Hiroko!” Minako calls, “I brought Yuuri home!”

He’s Skyped his parents at least once a month since moving away.  He hasn’t lost sense of how they look, even as they’ve aged.  He isn’t hit by anything close to surprise at the silver highlighting his mother’s hair as she rushes over to him, or the way her eyes crinkle when she grins, or the way she now has to look up at him instead of down.

Instead, Yuuri is hit with overwhelming comfort, melting into his mom’s hug, nostrils filled with the scent of her perfume, amber and jade, just the same as it’s always been.  When they break, both their glasses are askew and she laughs as she reaches up to adjust his.

“Yuuri, welcome home!” Hiroko says, teary-eyed but smiling.

Yuuri realizes he, too, is teary-eyed, but he, too, is smiling.

“I’m sorry it’s been five years…” he begins, but Mom dismisses the remorse with a wave of her hand.

“I couldn’t make it to your graduation, so we’re even.  These things happen as you get older.  Do you want katsudon?”

Yuuri’s stomach emits a loud gurgle in response, leaving Hiroko and Minako in stitches.  It should be embarrassing – not even Phichit can get away with teasing him – but for the moment everything feels so right, and he’s _home_ , and nothing either of them could say could bother him.

_Except…_

“Hey, speaking of katsudon,” Minako chuckles, wiping at her eyes, “I’ve been wondering ever since I saw you…”

She turns on Yuuri, and suddenly her expression is menacing, eyes turned on the bit of shirt visible under his open jacket, and he knows exactly what she’s about to ask but he’s not here for it, not ready to admit the thing he’s been denying for months.  He turns and pretends to fuss with his luggage, but Minako’s claws are already on him, ripping off his backpack and coat.

He clutches at his shirt, trying to mask his figure.

“No, no, Minako-sensei, don’t-“

_“Aha!”_

The hem of his thermal slips from his grasp and his… well, his _gut_ flops out for the whole common area to see.

_“When did you get so out of shape?  Where’s your support?”_

How humiliating.  The stress-eating certainly hadn’t stopped after the Sochi competition, but either those around him were too polite to point it out or didn’t notice.

Yuuri has noticed, though, in the way he has to squeeze into his jeans, and in the tightness in the shoulders of his coat.  He isn’t just chubby, he’s flabby, his figure formed over a year-long spiral of practicing less and less, eating more and more, and skipping out on core workouts with his fellow singers.

It’s just another sign of his failure.

 _Disgusting,_ he thinks.

Before he can twist out of Minako’s grasp, he catches sight of his Dad from the kitchen window, cackling at the pathetic sight of him.

“Wow, Yuuri,” he laughs, “you look just like your mom!”

Before Yuuri can respond, Minako is bearing down on his parents, explaining the physiology of a singer’s abdomen and the important role that strong obliques and intercostals play in breath control, and the potential laryngeal damage that could be caused by acid reflux, and, and…

And Yuuri takes his opportunity to make a break for it.

“I, uh, have to…” he mumbles, retreating in a hurry to the back, past his snickering dad who reaches out and gives him a gentle poke as he goes.

He finds refuge in the family room – the one where he used to hide when he was feeling anxious as a kid.  Its dark walls were lit only from the sunlight spilling in through the large window, and the inn’s garden waved and whistled in the spring breeze outside.

On the far wall is the butsudan where he used to sit and talk to his grandmother about the boys at school so that he could get it off his chest without actually having to open up a sensitive discussion with his family.  He’s talked himself through confusing feelings here, blabbering on about Shun and the way he smiles as he walks out into the sunlight, or how Kaoru had given him a Kamen Rider sticker at lunch, or how he never gets Valentine's Day chocolates.  Grandma always listened, always gave him time. He’d sit and listen to the breeze in the garden, hoping somewhere within, she would offer him advice.

“I don’t think he even knows who I am,” he’d almost always say.  “I hope he will someday.”

He’d said it to her photo on his dresser back in Detroit, the day he first saw Viktor sing.

Now featured prominently on the altar is a picture of Vicchan, and Yuuri holding him, and as he kneels by the little shrine to pay his respects, Yuuri can’t repress the stupid, intrusive idea that his hopes to have a career in singing have died along with his beloved pet.

How fitting and how strange, to see his young, happy self here, to be mourned at the altar.

Yuuri mourns.  He’s not even sure _what_ he’s mourning, apart from Vicchan, but some sort of resolved, bereaved bitterness fills him until he has to release it.  He weeps until his stomach hurts, and his cheeks hurt from being pulled back into a grimace of pain and remorse, and his throat hurts from the little, choking hiccups that keep the tears flowing.

When it’s over, he doesn’t know how long he’s cried.  His chest and his lap and his sleeves are wet and slimy with tears and snot, and if it weren’t still (probably) mid-afternoon, he’d lie down and fall asleep right there in the family room, close to Vicchan and the garden and the place that comforts him.

He knows when he smells tobacco mixing with the smoke from the incense that he’s not alone.  He turns to see his sister leaning on the doorframe, studying him with mild concern.

“Yuuri,” she hums, anchoring the cigarette tight in the corner of her mouth.  “Welcome back.”

He sniffs back any remnants of his tears, quickly wiping his eyes on the hem of his shirt.

“Mari-neechan… hi.  Sorry.  You’re probably busy.”

Mari raises an eyebrow.  She’s always been the most insightful one in the family, but the least imposing.  Yuuri knows she can see right through him.

“Are you okay?” she asks.  Her tone is neutral, cautious.  The way she always is when she can see he’s low.  Yuuri nods but doesn’t trust himself to answer in words.

“So are you coming back to help out at the hot spring? Or just to visit?”

Yuuri’s face is burning.  He focuses on maintaining long, slow breaths.

“I… I don’t know yet,” he says, finally.  “Where is this coming from?”

Mari is definitely frowning now.

“You’ve put so much time into… _that_.” She mutters, low enough to respect this room’s privacy from their family outside.  “If you’re going to keep singing, I’ll support you.  Is all.”  She drags on her cigarette.  “You’re a mess, _otouto_.  Why don’t you go relax in the bath?”

Yuuri nods again.

“Thanks,” he says.

Mari starts to leave but turns at the last second.

“Oh yeah,” she drawls.  “D’you ever meet that guy?  The one you always talked about.  Pretty?  Sings like an angel?  That guy?”

“N-no.” Yuuri can feel the blush creeping up his neck and into his face. “I ran into him once… I almost talked to him, but… It doesn’t matter.  I probably won’t get the chance to see him again now.”

He had a chance to say _anything_ , anything at all, to the one person whose singing kept him inspired through five years of school, and he ran away, all because of the way he was talking to that scary junior.

He looks down at his feet, as if maybe a good excuse would be written on his toes.  But there is no good excuse. 

He ran away and got blackout drunk.  Thank god for Phichit.  His accompanist assured him the next day that everything had been fine, that they'd met up with some people and everyone had enjoyed themselves.

That he hadn't ruined anything.

Would anyone even tell him if he had? 

He can hear Mari chuckling as she walks away.

“Isn’t that how it always goes?” she muses.  “Seeya, Yuuri.”

 

 

 

A few days later, Yuuri decides to escape the inn’s dinnertime rush of and visit his second home: Hasetsu Piano Piano.  He runs, backpack heavy with scores and anthologies, careful to keep his scarf tight around his face to avoid the burn of the cool spring air in his throat. 

Why it’s so important to him to get back in shape all of a sudden, he has no idea.

Panting a little, he stops in front of the front doors to catch his breath.  This is another reunion about which he’s been more than a little apprehensive, but something strong is burning in his chest and as he grants himself entry to the store and studio, he can’t help but feel a little excited to just be around music again, especially here.

“Uh… Excuse me!” he calls lightly into the space.  It doesn’t seem empty, and sure enough he can hear a little action in the back.

“Store hours are over!” returns a disgruntled voice, and shortly after, Nishigori Yuuko appears from behind the curtain, dragging three girls in her wake.  “We’ll be open aga- _Yuuri-kun!”_

He can feel himself break into a grin

“It’s been a while, huh?” he asks.  It feels like the most normal thing he’s said since arriving home.

Yuuko was his best friend growing up, and two years his senior.  She studied piano under Minako, and as the two grew together they were an unstoppable duo.  She was his first accompanist, before he ever had need for one, always willing to take on his little schemes and ideas for pieces to present to Minako.  They learned all their favorite songs from the television and the radio together, and tried to establish a studio-wide pop recital.  She was his idol.

 _She’s still cute, too_.

“You haven’t met my girls yet, have you?” she says, and pushes her three adorable, round-faced daughters in front of her.  “Melody, Lyric, and Aria,” she beams.

“Oh my god, they’re so big!” He crouches down so his face is at level with the girls, who are eyeing him with the intensity of an adjudicator's panel.  "I haven't even seen you three since you were babies!"

“They’re big fans, huh girls?”  Yuuko says.

Yuuri is hit with a wave of questions all hurled his way at once.

“You’re fat!”

“What’s your fach?”

“Have you ever had a girlfriend?”

“Didn’t you lose Federations?”

"I thought singers had tight abs!"

"Do you know Juan Diego Florez?"

"Why do you look like that?"

Another voice boomed from the back.

“Girls!  That’s enough!”

The triplets grow quiet as Nishigori Takeshi emerges.

“They’re all your fans, Yuuri!” he laughs.  “Welcome back!”

After they’ve gone through their greetings and caught up a little, Takeshi corrals the girls to the side and Yuuri takes the opportunity to pull some music out of his bag.

“Um,” he mumbles, “I was wondering if you would help me with something I’ve been working on.”

Yuuko’s eyes light up as he hands her the score, photocopied in loose sheets. 

“Yuuri!  Yes!  Back at it again!” She scans the piece briefly. “Who is this?” she asks, sounding out the roman characters.  “Zdravkov? I don’t know that name.”

Yuuri can hardly contain his excitement. 

“It’s a commission.  It sounds silly…” he gulps. Yuuko is probably the only person he can level with like this besides Mari. “It sounds silly, but it means a lot to me. Or it did at one time.”

She smiles, face set with determination.

He warms up while Yuuko looks over the piece, first on scales, then arpeggios.  He pushes his upper range first, then eases down into his lower.  He keeps things light and staccato to start, then as he feels the strain from his run start to ease, ventures into long tones and runs.  When he feels at least a little confident, and after he’s checked to see that Takeshi and the girls have left, he returns to Yuuko’s piano.

“Isn’t it a little high?” The older girl asks. “I thought Celestino had you singing baritone. Yuuri, this is a tenor piece.”

Yuuri shrugs.

“Easy tempo,” he says, snapping it out with his fingers.  Yuuko rolls the first chords to cue him in. He focuses the sound forward as he sings, trying to keep his soft palate high, even as he descends into his low register. He let’s go of his extra weight, let’s go of everything, and lets himself float, a leaf on the wind of Yuuko’s accompaniment.

He remembers how singing felt when they played together as kids, so pressing, so dire, like these things he was feeling inside needed to come out _now_ , and the only language sufficient to express them was song.

It still is.

He misses the trust he once put in music, before it was a job, back when it was an escape from everything. He misses music as a way of communing with his friends.

The piano swells, and with it the emotion in his chest. His anxiety has been at bay ever since he came to pieces in the family room his first day back. Now, going into the chorus, he feels the same release as he did then.

Like maybe he’s already reached his lowest.

Like maybe it’s time to heal.

When the last notes from the piano fade, he and Yuuko are both blinking back tears.

“Yuuri…” Yuuko gapes at him a moment, mouth forming the noodles beginnings of words then discarding them. “How… that was… _amazing_. I don’t know how…” she lets out a little laugh in spite of herself; she’s not making much sense. “I kind of thought, you know, after Federations and Sochi… I thought you’d be depressed.”

Yuuri’s lips draw back into a wry smile.

“I was. I… _am_ ,” he quickly corrects. “Depressed. I… things have been difficult. But I was tired of music being the thing that causes me stress. So I decided to come home and let it be a hobby again for a while, to try to rekindle my love for it.”

He breathes deep. His heart is racing, and he can feel the adrenaline coursing through him.

“Again?” He asks with a grin.

Yuuko nods, grinning back at him.

  

* * *

 

 

On his way home from a particularly frustrating session with Yakov, Viktor cannot help but think that maybe he was better off back when music was for a grade rather than a paycheck.

Or better yet, when it was a hobby, the thing that brought him joy when everything around him was gray.

Everything feels like too much. Meeting with Daniela to negotiate a contract for a one-performance run of _Tosca_ in Sofia is wonderful, and a giving a masterclass in Yakov’s program in Beijing is wonderful, and auditions for company roles in three different cities across three different continents is wonderful. He knows this.

But if he had realized ten years ago when he was signing up for conservatory auditions that his full-time job would consist of rubbing elbows and marketing himself as a product and not a person, he may have opted for a different career.

It’s not like he didn’t have a choice in which path he took after college.

He definitely had a choice.

He totally could have branched out into other areas of music. He can picture himself as a professor in some big music school, all tan suits and black coffee and office hours.

He would teach opera history. Or, once he got his doctorate, something even more specialized, like “Socioeconomic Influences on Russian Opera in the 19th Century” or “Pedagogy of the beginner's voice”.

He wants to study stacks of scores for _fun_ , not for work, and definitely not for a deadline. Singing used to be his platform for doing new and surprising things to keep himself interested. Yakov asked him to learn German repertoire and he learned the German language on top of it. Yakov asked him to learn one of Rodolfo’s arias from _La bohème_ and he learned the entire role.

He’s finding fewer ways to surprise people these days. Everything within his energy to employ is either already expected of him or unhelpful in terms of getting jobs.

He’s – to his horror – settling into a pattern. A routine. A rhythm. He can’t let that happen.

He’s worried pretty soon the only surprise he’ll have left will be quitting the field altogether.

He grabs a salad on the way back to his flat, then eats it in silence in front of the tv, Makkachin waiting patiently at his feet for either a bite of food or permission to join him on the couch.

He half-watches some cooking show, letting Makka up with him once his salad is done and disposed of. They’re making some sort of Italian dessert.

He hasn’t even been to Italy in over a year, he’s been so busy.

His phone buzzes a few times in his back pocket. He lets it go. The risk of it being work-related is too steep, and Viktor is unable to care in the slightest.

 _Cassata_. That’s what it’s called. He knows he’s had this dessert somewhere. Bologna? He used to get breakfast right next door to the Museo di Musica, in a café that was stuffed with little sugary delights like this.

The buzzing in his pocket persists, and after counting upwards of five texts in one minute, Viktor decides he’d better check what’s going on, just in case.

 

**Кристоф:[https://youtu.be/H6-eKBEHg1U](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4IjMAGw2l3o)**

**Кристоф:** YOU NEED TO WATCH THIS.

 **Кристоф:** NOW.

 **Кристоф:** Viktor Nikiforov I do not have time for you to be unavailable

 **Кристоф:** I don’t care if you’re in a lesson

 **Кристоф** **:** I don’t care if you’re in an audition.

 **Кристоф:** I will keep texting you until you pick up because I need to be here for your reaction.

Christ on ice, Chris

Okay, I’ll watch it.

 

For all the frantic excitement Christophe sent his way, Viktor is in no way prepared for what he sees when he clicks the video link.

 **Katsuki Yuuri sings Viktor Nikiforov tenor aria original Zdravkov Stammi Vicino -** MeLyrodAricaSan

 _Who wrote this title?_ He thinks.

And then the music starts and he begins to process what he’s just read.

The camera is shaking and out of focus at first, capturing its subject from an odd angle. Strange chatter masks the first few chords of _his_ song, followed by frenzied shushing. Within moments all is quiet in the foreground, and the camera is steadied, and whoever is behind it zooms in on the two blurry figures in the center of the frame. Little by little, they ease into view.

One is sitting at what he now makes out to be a grand piano.  Pretty, Japanese, her hair dyed red and pulled back in a practical bun.

The other, the standing one, is...

_Yuuri._

Yuuri is singing Stammi Vicino.

Yuuri is singing _his piece_.

Where did he get the music? Isn’t he a baritone? _Where did he get the music?_ Who is the girl?

After the wreck of a night that followed their competition in Sochi a few months ago, Viktor looked up any and every video of Yuuri he could find, trying to get an idea of just who this mystery man was on and off stage.  He didn't find much.  What he did find was old, and the young man on the stage must have gone through some impressive changes because he didn't possess a fraction of the charisma Viktor saw in Yuuri at the bar last December.

Or in this Yuuri.  The room on the screen is big and empty but somehow Yuuri fills it.

Wherever he is, for whatever reason, Yuuri is wildly different in this video. Relaxed, but full to the point of spilling over with emotion – it is clear in his voice, in the longing painted across his face, in the way he reaches out as if to grasp something just beyond his fingertips.

It’s clear in the tears welling up in his eyes at the end.

Viktor cannot understand how this video came to be. It was only posted a few hours ago, but it’s already gathered almost two hundred views.

He watches it again.

There is no way Yuuri could have found this music on his own.  The only connection he can think of between Yuuri and Sergey Zdravkov is Phichit - it's plausible; Viktor doesn't know anyone who networks quite as compulsively as the Thai pianist.  Of course, he himself was absent in Phichit's net, or else he could ask.  If only Viktor were better at giving out his number to people...

He watches it again.

There is an incredible sense of purpose in Yuuri's singing, like he's trying to move mountains, like maybe his voice can turn back time.  Yuuri says "stay with me, I am afraid to be apart from you," and Viktor  _believes_ it, believes it like he did four years ago, when the stress of graduating college and auditioning for grad schools and starting to get his first taste of the professional lifestyle.  When he felt like he'd focused so hard on becoming a musician that he'd lost his music in the process.  When he'd _written_ _the words_ to the aria Yuuri is now singing. Had brought it to Sergey to set to music. He had no clue Yuuri knew anything about him then.

But he did.  

Suddenly the Japanese man's behavior at the bar makes sense. He must have  _listened_. He must have  _understood_.

Again.

And it’s so _exciting_ , he is drawn in each time by the absolute beauty and clarity of Yuuri’s voice, singing something so near and dear to Viktor – enough to be called intimate – it makes his heart race until it’s pounding against his ribcage.

He watches it again, this time daring to tear his eyes away from Yuuri’s face to read the video description.

“Hasetsu Piano Piano Nishigori Yuuko Katsuki Yuuri Viktor Nikiforov Stammi Vicino Stay With Me Opera Singer Japanese Singer Music Musician Japan Hasetsu”

 _How cryptic_.

He doesn’t know how it came to be. He doesn’t know why it came to be.

All he knows is that Yuuri is thinking of him.

And Yuuri is in Hasetsu, Japan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Кристоф = Christophe  
> neesan - honorific for older sister  
> otouto - little brother
> 
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> 
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	3. Acerba volutta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri is mortified, Viktor is determined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh! This took so long! Apparently, I'm more productive when I ::don't:: have a five-day break from work!
> 
>  
> 
> As always, check the chapter title for the song that goes with it. There are a few other songs peppered throughout this time. I'm not linking Stammi Vicino again.
> 
>  
> 
> The easter egg from the last chapter was during Viktor and Christophe's text conversation, in which Viktor said: "remember me, but ah, forget my fate!" It's the dramatic last words of Dido in Henry Purcell's Dido and Aneas. Christophe definitely rolled his eyes at that one.

[Acerba voluttà](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=60bYoHFILrQ)

 

Yuuri’s WeChat is ablaze with chatter when he wakes up the next morning, his phone buzzing nonstop as he pieces together what on earth happened between last night and now in a sleepy haze. When he finally decides the notifications are too frequent for him to just ignore them and go back to sleep, he holds it up to his face, squinting to see what all the fuss is about.

 

 **PeachY:**  
https://youtu.be/H6-eKBEHg1U

 **PeachY:**  
HEY WHAT THE FUCK GUYS

 **24Yuu3:  
** oh no

 **24Yuu3:**  
that’s the girls

 **24Yuu3:**  
this is definitely the work of my daughters

 **24Yuu3:**  
they are in so much trouble

 **24Yuu3:**  
1000 views?!

 **NiTake88:**  
(=^▽^)σwwwwwwwwwwomg

 **NiTake88:**  
this is amazing!

 **PeachY:**  
why did I find it on r/classicalsinger AND r/WeAreTheMusicMakers???

 **NiTake88:**  
nvm it’s not funny apparently

 **24Yuu3:**  
I smacked him ^ ^

 **PeachY:**  
I mean, it’s good

 **PeachY:**  
Really good.

 **CantaMin  
**  My Yuuri!!! Amazing!!

 **CantaMin:**  
wait, I judged this piece

 **CantaMin:**  
wait, how did the girls know this was Nikiforov’s piece?

 **CantaMin:**  
and how did Yuuri-kun get it?????

 **PeachY:**  
That would be me, the composer and I are acquainted

 **PeachY:**  
I called in a favor when Yuuri was feeling down

 **PeachY:**  
But I swore it would only be used for practice tho, nothing public, and not without permission

 **24Yuu3:**  
Yuuri-kun and I talked about it in between runs, the girls must have been listening in

 **NiTake88:**  
How long until this finds its way back to Viktor? Or Zdravkov? Should we be worried about that?

 **PeachY:**  
YES we should be worried about that

 **NiTake88:**  
it’s top post on both subreddits rn

 **24Yuu3:**  
it is NOT finding its way back to Viktor bc we’re taking it down.

 **CantaMin:**  
Heeeey, are you sure?  It’s easily the best thing he’s got on YouTube right now

 **CantaMin:**  
It’s got more views than all his other videos combined

 

Yuuri reads everything before he hits the link.  He _really_ doesn’t want to watch the video..  He _really_ doesn’t want to hear himself, out of practice and out of shape, cold-singing a piece that isn’t for his voice type, just for fun.  He _really_ doesn’t want to listen to himself make a mockery of Viktor’s beautiful piece. 

_Viktor._

Yuuri’s stomach twists as he clicks through to the YouTube video.  It somersaults like it did when he would close his eyes on the swing set as a kid, throwing off his equilibrium, making him feel like he’s either going to throw up or collapse on the floor in a puddle or both. As he listens to himself sing, dampened by the accelerando of his pulse pounding in his ears, he can practically see Viktor’s face painted with disgust and outrage and annoyance at this _nobody_ trying to meet him at his level.

Not that he’s trying to be like Viktor.  Or trying to get his attention.  That art song is just so inspiring to him, it resonates with all the ache and longing he feels when he imagines what he could be if he could just put aside his imperfections and insecurities… if he could live in the music on stage the way he does at home.

But how could he ever explain that to anyone other than Phichit or Yuuko?  Even Minako would laugh it off as some silliness or crush.  How could this ever look like anything more than a tribute to his idol?  God, all he wanted was to enjoy singing, not to publicly broadcast his own fanboy tendencies, especially when the object of his most secret affections was one of his fellow competitors to whom he’s _never_ spoken.  Now, everyone who watches this video is going to see a _love letter_ , direct from Yuuri to Viktor, begging for attention and proximity.

He’s never been so embarrassed.

He flips back to the group chat, unable to listen to the song in its entirety, certain that if he does he will actually throw up.

 

 **†** **LeoDLIglesia** **†** **:**  
This is amazing.  I am so glad I saw this before it got taken down. 

 **CantaMin:**  
Phichit can’t you just message the composer and explain what happened?  He can’t get mad over some kids.

 **PeachY:**  
I would love to but I don’t have any way to contact him – I said acquainted, not friends

 **†** **LeoDLIglesia** **†** **:**  
YOU don’t have someone’s number? Mr. Social Network?

 **PeachY:**  
Ew. Leo, that is rude.  I am not a phone book.

 **PeachY:**  
Look, you don’t know the lengths to which I had to go for that score

 **KatsudonYuuri:**  
Oh come on, don’t talk about it like you didn’t love every second of it ;)

 **CantaMin:**  
Yuuri-kun!

 **24Yuu3:**  
Yuuri-kun!

 **PeachY:**  
Yuuri how dare you, I’m scandalized. Truly scandalized.

 **†** **LeoDLIglesia** **†** **:**  
Yuuri!

 **NiTake88:**  
I’m so sorry, Yuuri.  My kids uploaded the video, and it went viral.  I’m taking it down now, and the reddit posts.

 **†** **LeoDLIglesia** **†** **:**  
And I’ll delete my tweets about it.

 **PeachY:**  
LEO

 **KatsudonYuuri:**  
LEO

 **†** **LeoDLIglesia** **†** **:**  
I’m SORRY!  I posted them before I read the conversation!

 **†** **LeoDLIglesia** **†** **:**  
You NEVER sang like that in Detroit, Yuuri!  I really thought it was beautiful!

 **KatsudonYuuri:**  
Thank-you, Takeshi-san.  I appreciate it.

 **24Yuu3:**  
Yuuri-kun, I feel so bad, I’m so sorry!!  They really only did it because they love your singing!

 **KatsudonYuuri:**  
It’s fine.

 **KatsudonYuuri:**  
Thanks guys.

 **KatsudonYuuri:**  
I’m going back to sleep forever now.

 

And he does just that.  He turns off his phone and collapses back into his pillow, staring mortified at the faded, peeling stickers on his bedframe, remnants of his childhood, and drifts back into his most reliable escape.

Yuuri’s dreams are filled with music.

He’s in a music hall – any of the handful of music halls he’s visited to compete, and maybe he could place a finger on just which one it is if it would just stop changing on him.

He thinks maybe it’s Pittsburgh, but no, that’s not quite right, where’s the chandelier? Maybe Chicago, yes, he can recognize the feel of the stage. He and Phichit have been here countless times, and he’s certain this is the Museo della Musica in Bologna.

He’s got no score in front of him, and the accompaniment is… it’s got to be something he’s heard before. It’s got to be something he’s _sung_ before; after all, he _is_ singing along to it now.

He can hear, feel the music moving through him, letting it move him through ambiguous space. He feels confident and apprehensive and precarious all at once, consistently surprised and impressed when his voice and his movements connect in ways that aren’t utterly disastrous.

He is overwhelmed with feeling and completely numb all at once.  It’s like being drunk, he thinks, twirling on the stage as though he’s being swept away by the melody line.  The music takes control.  He recognizes some of the things he’s singing.  At one point he realizes he’s gone through three or four consecutive scenes from [Don Giovanni](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NqPcb1nKZYg), his stride graceful and commanding, his voice dripping with charm and debonair. 

Or is he singing [Leporello](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=INF9r5jju0A), and not the title character?  Then everything is a whirlwind of colors and half-familiar faces and he’s singing [Count Almaviva from _The Marriage of Figaro_](https://youtu.be/BcB0Nb6_0qQ?t=2m36s), pleading the forgiveness of his beautiful Countess, on his knees at their feet, reaching out for the shining moonbeams of long, silver hair, and this part is so familiar, he’s performed this role so many times before, but the revelation washes over him only now that this is his moment, he can apologize for his misguided actions, for being so assuming as to try to claim something that isn’t his, for hurting Phichit and annoying Viktor and stealing from Zdravkov, for getting Yuuko mixed up in his problems… and it’s all his fault.

 _“Contessa, perdono, perdono, perdono…”_ he sings his prayer of repentance and everything falls away.  There’s no one, no stage, no venue, just Yuuri, and silver hair, and icy blue eyes piercing his soul.

And the next line should be one of sweet forgiveness.  The happy ending to a wild farce.  Cold eyes turn soothing and stern mouth curls into a smile and ah, everyone will be content, this day of torment, of whims and madness can end in love and joy.

That’s what should happen, that’s how this one ends, but somehow, instead, the scrutiny of those eyes like icy seas seat through Yuuri’s skin and they are full of disdain, rejection, disgust that he should even venture to seek their gaze. He stumbles backwards, but with no stage to catch him he can only keep falling, Viktor towering over him in confidence and beauty.

When he wakes up the sun is setting and the sounds of the evening rush drift dreamily through the walls.  He wanders down to the kitchen to make himself some chazuke, aware that he has to put _something_ in his stomach today, thankful that his family isn’t anywhere near in tune with what goes on in the music world.  He fakes his way through talking soccer with his dad while his tea brews.  It’s safe here.  Safe from the calamity that is going on in every other part of his life. 

After dinner, he forces himself to relax in the bath for a bit. He does his best to clear his mind of any thoughts. It’s hard to feel anxious and restless in the warm, fresh waters, but Yuuri manages. The water laps at his shoulders and his chest as he fidgets and shifts in his spot.  Normally if he closes his eyes and lets his body go in the hot waters he can focus on the comforting tingle of the minerals on his skin and the fragrant steam swirling around his face and forget his worries for at least as long as he lets himself soak.  Normally he can come out and meditate; the most effective weapon he’s found yet against his anxious mind is simply turning it off, when he can. 

This time, he can’t.  Eventually he abandons his attempt at achieving any calm in favor of swiping a bottle of sake and situating himself in the middle of Mari’s bedroom floor.

“I made a total fool of myself,” he cries, having explained everything to his sister. “I’ll never show my face in the singing world again.”

Mari laughs her dry, unaffected laugh and flips through her phone.

“If you say so, it must be true,” she deadpans, downing her drink with her free hand  It’s Yuuri’s least favorite quip of hers; she uses it to let him know he’s not thinking reasonably.  Even though he’s asked her not to say it, she still does.  And every time, it works.  He glowers at her from the floor. “Minako sent me that video though, I thought you sounded pretty good.”

Yuuri groans and flops onto his back, palms over his eyes.

“That’s what everyone keeps saying!” He moans, hiding behind his forearm and stretching his other hand out to pour another drink. “So why do I feel like shit?” He lifts his head just enough to tip the sake back against his lips, then throws it back.  Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad to drown like this, loose and warm and in trusted company, sinuses stinging from the alcohol.

He shakes that thought from his head almost instantly, literally shaking his head back and forth a little, as if his intrusive thoughts are on some sort of mental etch-a-sketch he can just clear away.

Just like on an etch-a-sketch, little remnants of the thought linger, just barely perceptible, but ignorable enough.

He pours another drink.

“Aren’t you just scared you’ve been caught in your crush?” Mari asks. “That’s the only downside to this, right?” Yuuri’s _nonononono!_ goes unnoticed as she continues. “If it makes you feel any better, I think if he even saw it, he would be flattered and not weirded out at all. I mean… your pianist-“

“ _Accompanist.”_

“-yeah. He knows everyone right? It’s not unreasonable to think you got the music through him.”

Yuuri is silent. He knows he has let down more than just himself – this is such an abuse of Phichit’s trust. He knows his best friend is beyond freaked about the music leaking. He’s sure any debut of that song belongs to Zdravkov and to Viktor, not to him. Not to some little practice room drabble he did for fun.

“It’s not your fault,” Mari soothes, plopping down next to him. “The triplets are _so_ grounded. Yuu-chan took away internet for two weeks!” She jabs a finger into his ribs over and over as she talks until he breaks into a smile, then a laugh.  “There you go,” she grins. “Don’t worry, little brother. This will all blow over soon, and everything will be back to normal.”

“Back to normal,” Yuuri repeats, staring up at the ceiling. And really, that’s all he wants. Back to before. Before graduation, before Federations, before he got Phichit to use his charms to coax that score out of Zdravkov. Back to when no one is talking about him and demanding his attention, so that he can make music whenever he needs a break from the pleasant monotony of life at the onsen.

Yuuri can look forward to back to normal.

 

 **PeachY:**  
Yuuri please be on

 **PeachY:**  
Yuuri look at your phone

 **KatsudonYuuri:**  
What’s the matter??

 **KatsudonYuuri:**  
Are you okay?

 **PeachY:**  
I’m fine

 **PeachY:**  
Sorry for scaring you. I got a hold of Sergey

 **KatsudonYuuri:**  
I don’t know who that is.

 **PeachY:**  
Zdravkov.  S. Zdravkov.  Sergey Zdravkov.  He has a first name

 **KatsudonYuuri:**  
Oh.  Right.  Is everything okay?  Is he mad?

 **KatsudonYuuri:**  
You can blame me.  It’s my fault, anyway.

 **PeachY:**  
NO YUURI

 **PeachY:**  
No, he’s fine with it, he loved your performance!

 **PeachY:**  
Look, you know I’d rather do this tough love thing in person, but circumstances as they are it’ll have to be on this garbage application.

 **PeachY:**  
It sucks that you did not have a say in whether or not that work got put out into the universe.  It sucks that you discovered it by surprise.  It sucks that there was this ambiguous question of copyright and such.  That’s all very stressful, all very not your deal.  I get it.  But for whatever reason, the universe chose the best performance you’ve ever done when it went choosing what those kids were going to leak.  It’s a game-changer.  Just… I’m proud of you.  You made some beautiful music and I was worried for a while no one else was ever going to hear you like I do.  I won’t listen to you play sorry for yourself and threaten to quit forever when you just got the best free publicity you could ask for.

 **PeachY:**  
So now’s the part where I tell you in advance it’s going to be okay and not to freak out

 **KatsudonYuuri:**  
What? When has that ever worked?

 **KatsudonYuuri:**  
Phichit, now I’m freaking out

 **PeachY:**  
the person who sent him the video was viktor nikiforov DO NOT RESPOND YET LET ME FINISH

 **KatsudonYuuri:**  
oh my god

 **PeachY:**  
He said it’s the most excited he’s heard Viktor in years, that he literally couldn’t stop talking about it, Yuuri, he saw your singing and he LIKED IT

 **KatsudonYuuri:**  
ohhhhhh my god Peach

 **PeachY:  
** Baby, I am so proud of you!!!

 **PeachY:  
** Yuuri?

 **PeachY:**  
Okay pouty, just... go easy on yourself, okay?  We love you.  So many people love you.  No one's going to let you fall.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Viktor knows he is being selfish.  He does not need Yakov to tell him so.  And yet, here he is, looking in the old man’s irate eyes as he barks wetly in Viktor’s face.

“You turn down that meeting with Daniela and your career is over before it even started!” Yakov spits, pacing in front of his star singer in his office, disbelief and betrayal painted in the darkest shades of red from his ears all the way down his neck.  “This is everything we have prepared for, Vitya!  This is your ticket to the easiest career you could hope for!  For what?”

If it were anyone else, Viktor would think this little display of anger to be quite performative.  Yakov is clutching his hat shapeless in one hand as he pontificates and punctuates with the other, veins popping in his forehead. _He_ is _not_ anyone else, he’s Viktor’s coach and teacher of twelve years, and still Viktor has never seen him this angry.  Yakov has waited patiently through _Please please please let me enter for Eurovision!_ and _No, Yakov, I’m certain I’m a baritone!_ and _I won’t sing if that bigot Dmitriy is concertmaster, I absolutely won’t!_ without so much as a stern lecture.  He’s been Viktor’s mentor in more than just music, listening with uninvested concern as his young protégé navigated relationships and heartbreaks and letdowns.

And Viktor gets it.  His timing is less than perfect.  Yakov has been throwing every ounce of his energy into the upcoming performance season to take his mind off his recent divorce and loss of a co-director.  Lilia took everything with her in the wake of the split, including the boxes upon boxes of programs, posters, and tapes that made up their legacy as a team – both onstage in their younger years, and as coaches later on. She left the old man with just enough to hole up in a modest apartment in the city.

Viktor knows it looks bad to leave so soon after his coach has been left heartbroken and lonely, but that still isn’t enough to keep him here in Russia.  He’s got to go.

If he absolutely needs to, he probably could wait until after Tosca.  He probably could wait until he’s got an idea of his schedule for the upcoming year, at least.  He’s got a million ideas about how he could be handling this better, how he could balance this new project with everything else going on.  But the thought of doing anything else makes him sick.  He just feels so stuck, so out of place, like staying here one more day will drive him mad.

How can he put that into words?

“Katsuki asked me for coaching.  I think it’s the right move for me,” he says, focusing on keeping his tone cool and neutral.

“Then bring Katsuki here!” Yakov cries, tossing his hat down in frustration.  “I need you in the program, and I need you available to perform!  What about Beijing?”

Viktor rakes his fingers through his hair.  “I can do Beijing.  Hell, Yakov, I can do the meeting with Daniela.  But I am going to him.  I see potential there, and…”

Yakov’s voice cutting him off is like a punch in the chest.  “ _There is no potential there!_   Vitya!  I have judged him!  For years, I’ve judged him! He does not perform as well as you apparently believe him to! I am not allowing you to uproot over some boy who gave you the slightest bit of attention!” 

“ _Maybe,”_ Viktor starts, raising his voice a little more than he means to in his shrill tenor, “ _maybe_ I _need_ to uproot!”  He can feel the heat rising in his face, and he tries, he really does, to reel it in, but he can feel his control slipping away.  “I am tired, Yakov, of music being nothing more than what is expected of me, a fulfillment of obligation.  I want to find _joy_ in my singing again, and singing with _him?_ That brings me joy.  I will not abandon the plans you’ve made for me.  But I will not abandon my own plans.  I am going.  I am not asking you to accept, please just understand.  If you want to keep me, you will let me go.”

His shoulders are shaking, fists clenched, and he hopes to god Yakov doesn’t see the tears welling up in his eyes.  He closes them and waits, breathing, for the yelling to resume.  He knows he’s in for it after dropping an ultimatum like that.

 Another breath, low and deep, released in a slow, cool stream.  Still nothing from Yakov. 

Viktor opens his eyes to find his coach seated at his desk, head in his hands.

“You go,” he growls, “and there is no Tosca.  I will not send Daniela a singer who cannot devote the whole of their time.  I will keep you on the roster for Beijing only because advertisements have already been published.  You go, Vitya, and I am finished finding you work.  You are on your own.”

 “Well,” he hums.  “I have made up my mind.  This boy is reaching out to me for some reason, and I have no way to let him know I’ve heard unless I go.”

Yakov’s fists clench in front of his face, then fall, heavy, onto the desk.  Viktor holds his breath, dreading the look of defeat on the old man’s face, but it never comes.  His features are set with resolve and solemn understanding, and although Yakov is a leading talent when it comes to mean-mugging, there is a profound sadness in his eyes that no scowl can mask.

Viktor skirts around the desk and takes a seat right there on the work surface, all the better to look his coach in the eye.  “Yakov,” he says, holding out his hand, “you were the best teacher I ever had.  You always will be.”

Yakov does not move to meet his touch.  “If you walk away now, you can never come back,” he mutters, staring Viktor down seriously.

And Viktor knows it’s goodbye.  There is nothing more to be said.  He is not going to be swayed, and if staying means seeing even a second more of the disappointment in Yakov’s eyes, then Viktor can’t do it.  He hops down lightly and puts his arms around his mentor’s shoulders, pulling him into a warm hug.

“до свидания,” he whispers, pressing a kiss into Yakov’s cheek.  “I’m sorry I can’t do as you say this time.”

And it feels so final to turn and walk away.  The kiss is still burning on his lips, a kiss of Judas Iscariot. 

He cannot let Yakov down.  He will have to come back with something to show. He will have to bring Yuuri back with something to show.

 

 

The train ride to Hasetsu from the Fukuoka airport has Viktor buzzing with anticipation.  He’s had almost a day and a half of travel to overthink this move and work through any second thoughts. He’s watched that video more times than he can even count anymore, thankful he had the foresight to download it before it was taken down. There just isn’t a reality he can think of in which this recording doesn’t have some link to that night in Sochi.

_Je te veux. Et je sais que me voulez aussi._

It was like a challenge. A “come find me” to follow the already blunt invitation that preceded it. If Yuuri wasn’t so drunk that night, Viktor would have jumped at the opportunity to show him just how right he was. He isn’t sure it was Yuuri’s intention to be swept away by Phichit the moment he got sick, with no contact information and hardly a goodbye to close the evening, but it was entirely too effective in solidifying the burning ache of wanting that pooled in his chest.

He thinks of Chris’ warning the morning after: _“highly unobtainable, he’ll destroy you.”_ He didn’t think it was true then, but here he is, schedule cleared of – _Jesus_ – of all the _work_ he’s landed for the upcoming year, a continent away, chasing Yuuri down on the basis of a fun night of karaoke and a single video uploaded to YouTube.

Maybe Viktor is already destroyed.

The unfamiliar language and landscape is so refreshing as Viktor hugs Makkachin between his knees. The elevated train whizzes by beautifully-wooded mountains and cool, rocky beaches that remind him of the ones back home. Nervous as he is, it is hard to feel tense on this easy morning. Worst case scenario, at least he has the opportunity to take this little vacation and let himself relax for a while.

After stumbling his way through some incredibly-broken, incredibly-googled Japanese that basically amounted to “Where… hotel… Yuuri Katsuki… family?” at the train station, Viktor finds himself on the street with a map marked up in sharpie crumpled around Makka’s lead and two suitcases bumping into his legs.

_I hope the stuff I sent ahead hasn’t shown up yet…_

This is how Viktor usually explores a new city – alone or with only Makkachin to keep him company. He can’t stand rooming with his fellow singers when he travels and can’t help but seek out the privacy and comfort of little sublets hidden deep in the city. Every now and then he’ll share with Chris, but the cozy feeling of falling into a quiet, easy routine somewhere altogether foreign is one of his favorite aspects of working abroad.  He starts to feel the excitement that comes with the first day in a new place, taking note of little shops and restaurants he hopes to try, curious streets down which he cannot wait to wander and get lost.

 _And there’s a castle._ A real, Japanese castle, ornate and shining in the midday sun and he’s been told if he walks straight towards it he’ll find the inn. _Ryokan_.  That isn’t the same as the word he found for hotel – _hoteru_.  Yuuri _did_ say his family owns an inn, not a hotel…

…and according to the little kiosk right inside the entrance of the amazingly stylistic lobby of Yu-topia Katsuki, complete with paper walls and traditional-looking artwork and low tables on bamboo mats, a _ryokan_ is more than just an inn… it’s a hot-springs resort.

Things are starting to feel so indulgent Viktor starts to consider feeling guilty.  But before he can question anything, a short, cheery woman is by his side, squealing over Makkachin in Japanese.

“I-I’m sorry…” Viktor says, feeling the blush creep over his cheeks because this woman _looks_ familiar; those mischievous brown eyes have met his own before somewhere else…

“Oh!  You speak English?” the woman chimes, wrenching Viktor’s bags out of his hands.  Viktor nods.  “Welcome!  Wow!  So handsome!  Your dog!  So cute!  Just like ours!  You’re here for hot springs”

She is bustling about like a happy little hurricane, tucking his luggage back behind a desk and emerging with a milk bone for Makkachin.  Viktor’s heart is near bursting.  He’s ready to give everything up and devote his life to working in a _ryokan_ if it means spending even a fraction of his time with this precious woman.

“I- my name is Viktor Nikiforov. I sing with Yuuri Katsuki. I… Is he here?”

He’s sure at some point on the journey here he prepared himself for that little exchange, but in the moment he’s so overwhelmed and… _nervous_ , he winds up stammering practically incoherently.

The woman’s face lights up with excitement.  “So pleased to meet you! I’m Katsuki Hiroko, Yuuri’s mother! You’re his friend?” 

He knew it.  There’s no mistaking those eyes.

Viktor doesn’t know how well “more or less” will translate and he’s not necessarily interested in some long explanation at this point.  He just nods, stage smile firmly in place.

“Wonderful!  Yuuri didn’t tell me he was having friends stay this summer!  You must have traveled long – go relax in the baths! I’ll go wake him, I need his help anyway. He has done nothing but sleep since he came home.”

Hiroko takes Makkachin and promises to keep him company since he’s not allowed in the baths.  She hands him his robes and towel and points him towards the hot spring.

The water is so nice and soothing, but Viktor’s heart is racing in his chest.  He goes over the script he wrote on the plane ride, over an over in his head while he soaks.

He thinks about getting up, going to wait for Yuuri in the common area where he can hear Makkachin barking. But the picture he’s starting to form in his head is too enticing, to exciting to pass up.  Coming to announce his new position as Yuuri’s voice coach is one thing, but after the French proposition in the karaoke bar and the publicly-broadcast performance of _Stammi Vicino_ , he’s got a lot of catching up to do.

This time, he’s going to be the one taking Yuuri by surprise.

There is a small clamor outside, and almost as if on cue, Yuuri bursts into the bathing area, eyes wide.

His own plan is almost too evil for him to take.  He almost breaks.  But he keeps his character as he stands up in the bath and extends his arm with a dramatic flourish.

“Yuuri,” he announces, “starting today, I’m your voice coach.  I’m going to make you a star!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like what you've read, I always appreciate kudos and comments! Hits let me know you're out there, Kudos let me know I have your attention, but Comments are the best way to show a writer your appreciation!
> 
> For nightly fic chapters and lots of reblogged YoI content, check out [my tumblr](http://kingfisherunion.tumblr.com)


	4. Cancion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They finally cross paths, Viktor is surprised to meet an old acquaintance in Hasetsu.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm. Sorry, I guess I was napping.
> 
> No, no, sorry it took so long to update!!! It's a very busy time of year for me, and I have been prepping for grad school on top of everything else I usually do!!! At some point even writing for fun started to feel like writing for work. So I've been taking my time ^.^
> 
> The only song mentioned by name is the title, and it's linked, so please give it a listen! Because there weren't any others mentioned in the chapter I linked a few videos to some real-life singers mentioned by name.
> 
> There's another opera easter egg hidden somewhere!! I'll reveal it next chapter.
> 
> Thank you all for your support!

[Canción](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3shCMFui5Ag)

At first, Yuuri thinks someone in his family is playing a sick joke at his expense.

 _That dog looks so much like Vicchan_. He accepts sloppy canine kisses without a second thought before remembering that no, his dog is dead, and this is someone else’s. 

_But probably not that someone…_

The only person he knows with that kind of dog-

_(brown standard poodle – Vicchan was a miniature but it was the closest Yuuri could find…)_

(and he’s more than a little embarrassed to know any of this, mainly due to the amount of Facebook-stalking it took to get him there)

-is Viktor.  (Like… _Vicchan?_ Come on…) And what better way to get Yuuri’s goat, just after things have finally started to return to normal, than this adorable, excited, fluffy reminder of the two worst things to happen to him this year?

None.  There is no better way.  Yuuri is properly peeved, or however much so he can be with fifty pounds of fuzzball pawing all happy-go-lucky at his chest.  Mom woke him up early to do work, and the weather sucks, it’s way colder than it should be in May, and when Dad decides to say something about it, he just about loses his cool, ready to give the old man an earful about all the emotional turmoil, how being back here is a direct result of his own failure and...

“Yuuri, isn’t he just like Vicchan? He came with a really good-looking foreign guest! He’s in the hot spring right now!”

 _Ha-ha_.

…

_Wait._

_WAIT._

He doesn’t have time to be angry.  He doesn’t have time to wonder what the odds are, or whether it’s wishful thinking, or if Dad is even observant enough to retain any piece of information about what dog Yuuri’s Secret Highschool Crush had.

_But…_

The first time Minako took Yuuri to a competition in Tokyo – not to sing, just to watch – his parents came too, because it was time to think about college, and they wanted to see what the college singers were like, if their son could had a chance.

It was the first time Yuuri heard Viktor sing.

Toshiya remarked as they left that “that really good-looking foreign kid has some potential.”

When Yuuri competed in the same event five years later, prompting his parents to close shop and come out to visit and support him, his dad said, “it’s sad Yuuri didn’t win, but that good-looking foreigner really is something else to listen to.”

That really sets Yuuri’s heart racing.  Is there any way that choice of words wasn’t intentional?  Dad is so calm it’s _annoying_ , looking pleasantly confused as Yuuri clambers to his feet and takes off, stumbling over his own shoes.

It takes exactly fifteen seconds to run from the lobby to the baths.

He’s still in his tennis shoes and coat, and a few old men are grumbling from their baths about etiquette, but he can’t even begin to care.  If Viktor is here, then Yuuri’s already kept him waiting too long, and even if he learns why right this second it would still be about twenty seconds too late.

_Why would Viktor come here? Has he lost his mind?_

He practically skates on the wet floor over to the sliding door and slips out, shutting it behind him, struggling to catch his breath after the mix of coat and exercise and steamy showers.

He doesn’t look yet, because he’s prepared to be wrong.  It would make sense if he’s wrong.  Statistically, there have got to be enough good-looking people from other countries who just _happen_ to have brown standard poodles and want to come visit a Japanese hot spring that he can chock it up to good ol’ coincidence and get on with the weeding Mom wants him to do.  He can be thankful for the little bit of fuzz therapy he woke up to and move on with his day.  Move on with his life.

But sure enough…

Looking up at the quiet, still waters, Yuuri can barely register the beautiful alabaster skin and glittering silver hair before the bathing figure rises to his feet, arms outstretched, determination set in his face.  He’s seen his share of naked bodies right here in his own home.  He shouldn’t be shocked, here of all places.

“Shocked” does not even begin to cover it, however.

“Surprised” doesn’t even come close.

“Unprepared and honestly so mortified he’d consider drowning himself on the spot if he didn’t think it would ruin the onsen’s publicity” is, if nothing else, a step in the right direction.  God, he should have thought this through, of _course_ Viktor is naked, it’s the _onsen_ , and with a body like _that_ …

He should have stepped outside backwards, just to be sure.  Just to be certain he didn’t get a glimpse… He should have come in _blindfolded, Yuuri, people bathe naked, how else could you avoid the sweet hell of having seen this sight with your own two eyes??_

The Yuuri who didn’t know what naked Viktor looks like is dead.  Strong, solid thighs, the dramatic jut of hipbones contrasted by pale, dimpled hips, skin sparkling as water beads over it and drips down, showing off the touch of pink left over by the heat of the bath – not to mention the way the slope of impossibly defined abdominals pulled the eyes downward – sear into Yuuri’s mind with sickening permanence.  He squeezes his eyes shut, shielding his gaze with a hand just to be sure, just for that extra layer of protection.

He always thought that attraction-induced nosebleeds were just a goofy trope in the cartoons Mari liked to watch when they were kids.  That’s just tv language letting the audience know some horny teen’s blood pressure is going up, right?  A rush of blood can be indicative of other… sensations, too, right? But now, with his pulse pounding in his ears harder and faster than it ever has, he fears he might prove himself wrong. 

 _God, he is so beautiful_.

They must be making an incredible scene right about now, Yuuri hunched over, hands over his face to catch the impending tidal wave should it come, cowering in the glistening radiance of this Russian Adonis’ physique.

When Yuuri is sure it can’t get any worse, Viktor finally makes his introduction, and everything comes crashing down.

“Yuuri,” he announces, “starting today, I’m your voice coach.  I’m going to make you a star!”

_What. The. Hell._

It’s too unreal.  He must be dreaming.  Viktor always shows up in his stress dreams to taunt him, and occasionally he appears in some _other_ types of dreams to tease him.  And the poodle?

“Well come on, say something!” Yuuri chances a look _up_ , definitely _up_ , and there’s a hint of expectant confusion in those ice-blue eyes that totally clashes with the confident laugh shaking Viktor’s broad shoulders.

_He’s smiling._

For the amount of time it takes Yuuri to scoop his jaw off the floor and settle into an expression he hopes looks at least a hospitable, he still cannot find a suitable response to the words that fell so easily from Viktor’s lips.  He stammers for a moment, trying in vain to hide his lingering horror at their current position, unsure where to look.  Anything lower than shoulder-level is Absolutely Off-Limits, but Viktor’s probing gaze is hard to hold onto.  There’s some searching _something_ in that stare that make him feel a little naked himself, makes him consider ducking behind one of the folding screens and hiding until the coast is clear.

“Viktor… you’re… uh.  _Naked,”_ is all his short-circuiting brain can piece together.  He feels like an idiot the instant he says it, but Viktor laughs again and sits back down in the waters.

“Ah, sorry,” he chuckles,   I know it’s polite to keep covered.”

_As if etiquette is the issue here!_

“What are you doing here?” Yuuri blurts, his face burning, thankful at least that he can look at Viktor without feeling like he’s imposing on his privacy.  Viktor looks confused again, his smile faltering. 

“I’ve just told you,” he hums, brow furrowing a bit.  “Don’t tell me you’re going to turn me down.”

 

 

 

If he thought things would start making sense once clothes were on and introductions were made, he was gravely mistaken.

Viktor is sitting with him at one of the low wooden tables out front, making the inn’s _jinbei_ look more elegant than Yuuri thought was possible, the dog nestled comfortably between his legs.  His entire being radiates this restful energy that completely foils Yuuri’s as the younger man clutches at his own sweatpants under the table just to keep himself from shaking.

For all of the galas, master classes, and competitions in which he’s participated alongside Viktor, Yuuri has never seen the Russian man talk as much as he is now.  Viktor lounges across from him at the table (Yuuri is certain that if he were to sprawl out like that he’d look like a beached whale, but Viktor makes it look classy and casual enough that it’s _stunning_ ) eating a plate of squid sashimi and chatting endlessly about his trip from Russia.

“-never thought I would find an airline that would beat out my love for Lufthansa, but ANA might have stolen my heart! I can’t believe I almost went with Aeroflot! And they treated Makkachin with such care; my only regret is that he’s too big to sit up with me!  My things should be arriving soon; I think I scheduled the delivery right, anyway.  Your home is absolutely beautiful, Yuuri.  Maybe later today you can show me around the village! I snapped a few pictures of shops that caught my eye on my way in, but of course, we’ll have plenty of time to look around this summer!”

…this… _Summer?_

Yuuri is not great at conversation on a good day, but talking to Viktor after their encounter in the baths is near impossible.  The tenor is throwing question after question his way in between bites of fish.  Did he ever visit the _banya_ during his travels to Russia? They must seem so claustrophobic in comparison. The food is delicious.  Does he help in the kitchens? What’s his favorite thing to cook? The only part of Japan Viktor’s seen before now is Tokyo – are most cities that modern or are there more that are small and laid-back like this?

Yuuri feels like a bobblehead, staring down at his plate and nodding on cue, occasionally choking out a little “um- I don’t know…” for the more open-ended questions.  Viktor seems to live such a cosmopolitan lifestyle.  His Instagram is full of pictures of the Russian bouncing around big cities in different countries with their natives, drinking and eating and celebrating.  He has so much to celebrate.   He’s caught the eye of more than one big name in the music world and Yuuri knows it won’t be long until Viktor is one of the most in-demand tenors in the business, up there with [Jonas Kaufmann](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-GVRoRILVD4) and [Celso Albelo](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yfK4qvSUQdc). 

Yuuri is working in his family’s tourist attraction in his tiny hometown without any plans for the future.  There’s nothing he can think of to say that would be as interesting or exciting as Viktor’s life.  He pokes at his sashimi, unsure whether he should feel totally blessed or utterly cursed.  Five months ago, Yuuri longed for Viktor’s attention and mourned his ignorance and cursed his name into his tear-soaked pillow for weeks afterwards.  Now it feels like Viktor is trying to pry him open with his incredibly invasive – but not necessarily unwelcome – presence, and Yuuri feels like he’s losing his grasp on reality.

He must have shut down, because pretty soon the questions stop, and Viktor is curled up with the dog that looks like Vicchan – no – the dog Vicchan looked like, both drifting into a satisfied and peaceful-looking sleep.

Maybe pulling the weeds will clear Yuuri’s head.

 

 

Viktor is still asleep a few hours later as Yuuri helps his parents with prep for the oncoming dinner rush, and Yuuri figures he must be pretty jetlagged.  His presence has attracted more than a little attention from the other guests, who inquire in hushed tones at the front desk about the handsome young man passed out on the floor in the dining room.  Yuuri wishes his dad wouldn’t be so quick to excitedly announce him as “Yuuri’s friend from school.”  He supposes maybe Toshiya isn’t entirely wrong, but _how_ Viktor decided his summer would include quality time with Yuuri in his family home was completely beyond him.

Things have been nice and slow since Viktor fell asleep, and Yuuri has gotten a lot of work done, suddenly invested in making sure the inn is looking its very best, that the food is impeccable, the baths clean and tidy.  The busy work gives him time to think, too, while his hands are busy with mundane tasks.  He has been so unsure recently about whether or not he even wants to continue singing – whether or not he even _could._ He’s already invested five years into what feels like a total failure to launch – is it really wise to keep pushing for it?

Then again, the only thing that has kept him inspired this whole time… has been Viktor.  The whole reason he continued to push himself to do better even after giving up was the prospect of meeting Viktor at another competition, another summer program, another festival.  Even when his own career wasn’t enough to motivate him to practice, even when grades could not keep him focused on his goals, the idea that he could sing on the same stage as Viktor just one more time was enough to keep him going.

He heard his own love of music somewhere in Viktor’s voice, and something tiny and hopeful in his chest wonders if maybe, just maybe, once that stupid video surfaced, Viktor felt the same. He peeks through the kitchen window out into the dining room at the still-snoozing figure spread out over two cushions under the table, unable to resist the little smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth.

It would be stupid to turn this opportunity down. He isn’t going to let himself be hopeful yet.  But he’s definitely not going to let himself be stupid.

 

* * *

 

 

 **PeachY** :  
YUURI

 **PeachY:**  
YUURIIIII

 **PeachY:**  
Why do you never answer??

 **KatsudonYuuri:  
** Your messages were like two seconds apart

 **KatsudonYuuri:**  
What’s wrong?

 **PeachY:**  
EVERYTHING’S WRONG

 **PeachY:**  
Yakov pulled Viktor from like ALL of his events this upcoming season

 **PeachY:**  
He was supposed to make his professional debut in Sofia in the fall – CANCELLED.

 **PeachY:**  
Sergey said he up and left Russia with hardly any warning tO GO TO JAPAN TO COACH YOU YUURI

 **KatsudonYuuri:**  
Sergey said, huh?

 **KatsudonYuuri:**  
                (^_−)~☆

 **PeachY:**  
HOW IS THAT WHAT YOU TAKE AWAY FROM THAT

 **PeachY:**  
we were just catching up…

 **KatsudonYuuri:**  
Uh, so yeah

 **KatsudonYuuri:**  
Sergey’s right, Viktor’s kind of here already.

 **PeachY:  
** WHAT

 **KatsudonYuuri:**  
He showed up this morning, soaked in the hot spring, told me he’s my coach now, ate, and then fell asleep.

 **PeachY:**  
WHAT!!!!

 **PeachY:**  
This. Is. HUGE. Sergey said when he saw the video of you singing his piece, he was struck with inspiration, and that’s when he decided he wanted to coach you!

 **PeachY:**  
Yuuri! Viktor came because he chose you!  You brought him there!  That’s incredible!

 **PeachY:**  
♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

 

* * *

 

 

Viktor wakes to the smell of food and the sound of a heated discussion nearby.  He finds himself trying to listen in, even though it’s clearly in Japanese.  It’s the first time in a while he’s been to a country without knowing at least some of the language.  He can get by in most of Europe and the Americas, but he’s never had the opportunity or reason to study any Asian language until now.  He resolves to spend some of his newfound free time searching for a good online course and getting to know the language of this new, beautiful place.

One of the voices is Yuuri’s.  He has never heard him speaking his native tongue before, and he delights a little bit in the sound.  Yuuri’s English is a little better than Viktor’s, which makes sense, considering he’s Celestino’s student, but even in his fluency his accent can interfere with his cadence, making him sound a little clumsy.  Without that barrier, Yuuri’s voice is sweet and musical, even as he – apparently – whines at whoever is currently yelling at him.

Things aren’t going as Viktor planned at all.

He’s not sure, now, what he even planned.  What did he expect to happen once he showed up, unannounced, unexpected, and in contradiction to everything he’s supposed to be doing this summer?  For Yuuri to jump on him the second they locked eyes – at 10 in the morning in the public baths in his family home – and pick up where they left off that drunken night in Sochi?

 _Kind of, yeah_.

Of course there would be talking.  Apologies would definitely be in order, and catching up, and getting the chance to know each other a little bit better.  Yuuri might have joined him in the bath, easing down into the waters next to him, their arms brushing together occasionally, as they made up for lost time.  Viktor could have asked him how the rest of his semester went, and all about his recital pieces.  About that extraordinary, otherworldly range he keeps hidden.  About the mysterious video.

At the very least, Viktor expected anything, _anything_ other than the cold detachment he’s received up until now.  Right, of course, Yuuri was never going to jump his bones right on the spot – _in a bath he probably has to clean regularly,_ he thinks with no small amount of sympathy – or even join him without a question.  Yuuri must be mad as hell, waiting and waiting for months for Viktor to take him up on his offer.  Waiting for him to even reach out.  Viktor already knew Yuuri was cutting things off with Cialdini, that he would be without a teacher come summer, and yet he has kept him in the dark until now.

If only he’d known sooner that Sergey had had that fling with the Thai kid.

In any case, he’s already here.  He’s got to show Yuuri that he’s serious about this, that he has wanted it ever since the night they met.  He needs to pull out all the stops, _now_ , and make up for the fact that he disappeared for so long that Yuuri had to publicly call him out on the internet to find him.  The time for Viktor to reach out has come.  Operation Become Yuuri’s Perfect Singing Coach is in full swing starting…. _Now._

Viktor sits up with a start, remembering he’s in a _dining room_ of all places, and clutches the sleep-loosened jinbei around him as he scans the room blearily for Yuuri until the soft, round tones of his voice catch his attention once more.

_“Oh… Mezameru.”_

Scooping Makkachin up in his arms, still a little groggy, he glances back in the direction of the sound and has to restrain a giggle when the loose fabric of his shirt slips down over his shoulder.  He’s only trying to be cute, not entirely seductive, but hey.  Whatever works.  It’s not like he isn’t trying to be playful.  He hopes the gesture comes off as less imposing than, say, pulling a _naked man_ tactic as his first move on a surprise visit to a kind-of-acquaintance’s family home.  Maybe Yuuri will pick up that this is Viktor trying to dial down the sexual advances without taking them completely off the table.  He won’t know until he tries, right?

“ _Hungry_ ,” he purrs softly.  His eyes and Yuuri’s meet for a split second, enough for him to see the color rush his adorable, round cheeks, before he remembers that the other man is not alone.  That’s _right_ , he was just arguing a second ago with some woman.  He astounds himself for a moment with his own sleepy lack of object permanence before realizing that Yuuri is not just in the company of _some woman_ , but someone Viktor knows, and… _shit_ , now it’s his turn to blush.

Tall and genuinely lovely are two prime descriptors that can be attributed to Minako Okukawa.  Terrifying and powerful are two more.  She’s kneeling next to Yuuri on the other side of the table, her gaze astringent and dubious as she gives him a long once-over, and oh, she is almost certainly reveling in the leverage this stunned silence has given her.  She’s waiting for him to speak first.  And because Viktor Nikiforov is no idiot, he absolutely does.  He manages not to falter; what would have otherwise been a coy smirk for Yuuri’s eyes only turns into his most dazzling of stage smiles as he turns on his knees to face her.

“Okukawa-san!” he sings, waving Makkachin’s paw instead of his own.  “What a pleasant surprise!  Yuuri!  You never told me you were acquainted with such a legendary _mezzo_.  _Baci, baci!_ ” 

Minako’s skeptical appraisal hasn’t left her face, but all the same, they exchange quick kisses on the cheek.  Viktor turns to do the same with Yuuri, but the younger man pulls away, just out of his reach from across the table, shifting uncomfortably.

_Again with the avoidance._

“Viktor! I mean… I guess, uhh… I never had the opportunity to bring it up?”  Yuuri stammers, his eyes fixed down at the empty table.  This is starting to get really frustrating.  Here they have something in common – they have an acquaintance in common, and Yuuri won’t even meet him where he is to talk about her.

Minako leans forward on her elbows.

“I taught Yuuri for almost ten years,” she beams, patting Yuuri on the back.  He doesn’t look up.

“Small world,” Viktor hums.  “Yuuri, Okukawa-san here sang with my mother on more than one occasion.  She’s also responsible for some of my harshest scores at the Tokyo International Music Competition.”

“Only because I know what you’re capable of,” says Minako with a wink.  Viktor’s fingers clench under the table.  Yuuri would definitely take that to mean his talent, but Yuuri doesn’t seem to know about the bad blood between Minako and his mother.

“So tell me, it’s been too long.  How is my Vitaliya doing?”

Viktor doesn’t smile.  He thinks back to the days of traveling from city to city with his mother, sitting in lonesome dressing rooms or dark private boxes while she sang to sold-out theaters.  He remembers the medicinal smell of stage makeup and alcohol and the dizzying perfume of bouquet after bouquet of the flowers that piled up around him night after night.  He can hardly stand the smell of flowers anymore.  He remembers filling the long hours he waited with school work, and once that was inevitably exhausted, reading, and then trying to find a spot in the impractical, ornate dressing rooms to sleep comfortably until Mama finally picked him up to leave.

 “Mama is doing a fine job of extorting hopeful sopranos out of unreasonable amounts of money by promising to make them a coloratura like her,” he says dryly.  Minako’s booming laughter turns a few heads.

Viktor does not join in.

The two chat for a few more minutes while Yuuri sits idly by – first about Yakov and Lilia’s unexpected split, then about Minako’s studio.  From Yuuri’s mortified expression, Viktor guesses it was only a matter of time until Minako asked him to come teach a master class or five while he’s in town, but he doesn’t mind at all.  He promises they’ll talk scheduling soon as the younger man stands and meanders over to the kitchen.

As she watches him go, her expression turns serious. Dark. 

 _“Ragazzo, spero che non giochi con questo, il mio fiore,”_ she growls, leaning so far over the table now that their faces are almost touching. _“È caro, e puro, e bimbo mio. Se toccalo dov’è il suo debole, sarò una vipera, capisci?”_

Viktor can’t help but laugh.  Maybe if things were going differently for him, he would seriously consider Minako’s threat. Meanwhile, he has to keep reminding himself not to keep his hopes up.  He’ll stick around to coach Yuuri, if that’s what he wants.  He hopes, so deeply, that that’s what he wants, if only to talk music with _anyone_ who isn’t vapid and career-minded. 

 _“Ho capito,”_ he nods.  _“Grazie mille, Maestra.”_

Minako makes a gagging noise at his snarky endearment and stands to leave.

 _“Ritorna pronto, ragazzo_.  _Yuuri!  Jaa ne!”_ she calls back to the kitchen.

 

* * *

 

 

“Oh… _hai_.”  Yuuri returns from the kitchen, hovering for a second as if he’s unsure whether to sit.  Viktor’s eyes still burn into him like flames..  “Are you… still hungry?” he asks, looking everywhere _but_ in front of him.

“Oh, I thought you’d never ask,” Viktor smiles.  “I’m always hungry,” he says, catching Yuuri’s gaze for just a moment.  Yuuri thinks he might pass out.  “Tell me, Yuuri, what’s your favorite food?”

He’s planned for this.  Yeah, he was kind of escaping Minako after she strong-armed Viktor into teaching at the studio, and yeah, he was kind of escaping Viktor because he still has no clue what he is even supposed to do or say in front of him.

“Hold on,” he says, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards into what he hopes is a friendly-looking smile, and he darts back into the kitchen to grab the meal he just helped Mom prepare.

“This is my mother’s _katsudon_ , and it’s the best dish that currently exists in the world,” he says.  Viktor’s eyes widen as his bowl goes down in front of him.

The first bite is an array of textures and flavors: The crispy, salty pork, the fluffy, juicy egg, the slight _crunch_ of the onion, cooked just enough to mellow the flavor, and the sweet, sticky sauce, and knowing this, Yuuri manages to restrain himself to see what it does to the man sitting opposite him at the table.  The blissed-out noise that escapes Viktor’s throat is so obscene that Yuuri has to bite his lip to keep from squirming.

“Mmmmohhh my God _vkusno_ ,” he moans, diving back in for another bite.  “Yuuri, this is what gods eat.”

“I know,” Yuuri says through a bite of egg.  “I think about it, like, every day.  I gain weight easily, so I only get to eat it when I win a competition.”

“Ooh!  What did you win?” Viktor beams, tearing his attention away from the cutlet bowl to see the pride on the younger man’s face. 

There is no pride there.  Yuuri can’t even fake for a moment that he has any reason to be eating a celebration meal.  He ducks his head to hide his shameful expression, seriously considering throwing out the rest of his dinner.

“I uh… I haven’t won anything for a few years, actually…” he mutters.  “I just haven’t been home since… um, 2010?  So I’ve missed it.”

“Well, you did just graduate college,” Viktor says cheerfully through another bite, “so let’s just call that a win!”

“Oh.  Uh, yeah.”  _He’s really good at hiding his judgement._

Viktor grins.  He’s done with his katsudon and there’s rice still stuck at the corners of his mouth, but he’s staring dreamily across the table at Yuuri.  It’s by no means cold in the dining room, but a shiver crawls up Yuuri’s spine.

 _He’s seriously going to kill me_.

“Speaking of katsudon,” Viktor says, reaching across the table to clasp Yuuri’s hand in his.  Yuuri tries to pull back but is too late.  Viktor’s hands are warm, his thumb brushing lightly against Yuuri’s knuckles.  “Let’s talk about training.  I don’t think I can work with you on singing until we’ve put some focus on _Operation Castability_.

There’s some English to decipher there.  Cast… ability… Yuuri knows the root word and the suffix but he’s never heard them used together like that before.

“I don’t think I understand,” he puzzles, hoping Viktor doesn’t notice the clamminess in his fingers, wondering if it would be rude to pull away.

“I don’t know what you’ve found to fill the katsudon-shaped hole in your heart, Yuuri, but it seems to have brought you quite a lot of comfort recently.”  Yuuri swallows hard.  “Normally I wouldn’t be one to body-shame anybody, but I can tell an untoned core when I see one.  And as long as we’re working on re-building muscle tone-” he reaches out and pokes Yuuri’s stomach.  It gives easily, soft and squishy, and Yuuri lets out an involuntary shriek.

“I get it!  I get it,” he cries, jumping back out of Viktor’s reach, arms wrapped tightly around his middle.  “I… I might have done some stress-eating during finals.  And midterms.  And audition season.  And the whole past year, actually.  And… I may have skipped a lot of my core training too.  It was a bad time for me.”

Viktor’s smile is so warm and inviting; it doesn’t match the sting of everything he’s just thrown Yuuri’s way.  He can’t wait to get back to his room and text Phichit.  _He showed me his dick, said he wants to coach me, and called me fat!_

“Don’t worry, _mon cher_ , we have all summer to get those abs back to peak performance.”  He winks, driving home his little innuendo, and Yuuri just about crawls under the table to hide the crimson in his cheeks, stammering something he hopes sounds like English words.  He cannot be more grateful when their exchange is interrupted by a loud _thud_ just behind Viktor and the faint smell of cigarette smoke.

 _“There are like thirty more of these boxes over in the front entrance.  I think they’re you’re friend’s_ ,” she sighs in Japanese.  _“The rush is going to start soon, so… just do something about them, okay?”_

Viktor gives Yuuri a puzzled look, and he gives him a brief translation.  Viktor’s blue eyes light up.

“Perfect timing!” he booms, leaping to his feet.  “Phase one of Operation Castability!  You can help me move my things and show me where I’m staying!”

_“S-staying??”_

 

* * *

 

 

_Chris…_

**Кристоф:** You are not allowed to ignore my messages for four days straight after dropping out of every major engagement for the upcoming year, show up on Instagram on a whole other continent, and then just say “Chris”

_I know, I’m sorry._

**Кристоф:** How could you not tell me?

_I only told Yakov.  I didn’t drop out, he pulled me._

_I think I might be messing things up._

**Кристоф:** Niki, I know you are not dumb, but your actions are not really letting on otherwise right now.

 **Кристоф:** I warned you about Katsuki.

_I don’t get it._

_He told me he wanted me._

**Кристоф:** Who’s to say he didn’t just like your piece?

_No._

_He told me in words._

_He told me in Sochi._

**Кристоф:** Oh, honey…

_I shipped all my stuff out here._

_I was so sure._

**Кристоф:** You can always ship it back.

 **Кристоф:** Actually, you probably should.

 **Кристоф:** Yakov can’t be that heartless, can he?

_No, I’m staying._

_I want to coach him._

_I’m going to coach him._

**Кристоф:** Niki. Come on.

_There’s something in his face when he sings.  Something I thought no one else felt._

**Кристоф:** You know I will support you in whatever choice you make.

 **Кристоф:** But please don’t let yourself get hurt.  Okay?  Take care of Viktor.

_I will._

_I promise._

 

* * *

 

 

Tonight was supposed to go differently.  Viktor was supposed to feel excited – happy, even.  He tried over and over again to connect with Yuuri as they hauled his things up to his room (an empty banquet room – he doesn’t mind the open plan or the extra space, honestly).  Even when they were done, Yuuri sprawled out, panting in front of him, he tried to make it clear that yes, he’s interested – _so interested_ – in Yuuri, that he wants not only to get to know him, but to spend time together.

It landed him on the other side of a slammed door, confused, hurt, and exhausted, despite all the midday sleep.

How are they ever going to work on singing together if Yuuri can’t let him near enough to even touch him?

And while it was nice to see someone familiar so far away from home, Minako’s presence was only digging up unnecessary feelings from his past that he’s spent so long tamping down.

He doesn’t know what he’ll do if Yuuri finds out how horrible Vitaliya Nikiforova was to his teacher.

Tears prick Viktor’s eyes as he curls up with Makkachin in his bed, trying to figure out just what it’s going to take to stop feeling so lonely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me at the beginning of this fic: I'm going to make this as canon-compliant as I can! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ  
> me writing that Minako knows Viktor's mom: i'M gOiNg To MaKe ThIs As CaNoN-CoMpLiAnT aS i CaN! ᕕ(o_O)ᕗ
> 
> Sorry I ended it on such a down note. But, like in canon, this relationship is a slow build for both of them. We all know how it ends!!
> 
> Translations:  
>  _jinbei_ \- traditional Japanese summer garment  
>  _banya_ \- Russian bath house  
>  _Oh... Mezameru._ \- Oh. He's awake.  
>  _Baci, baci!_ \- Kisses, kisses!  
>  _Ragazzo, spero che non giochi con questo, il mio fiore_ \- Young man, I hope you're not playing with this, my flower (Minako is dramatic, especially in Italian)  
>  _È caro, e puro, e bimbo mio. Se toccalo dov’è il suo debole, sarò una vipera, capisci?_ \- He is precious, and pure, and my baby. If you touch him where he's vulnerable, I'll become a viper, understand?  
>  _Ho capito_ \- I understand.  
>  _Grazie mille, Maestra._ \- A thousand thanks, Maestra (an honorific given to a coach or conductor - literally "mistress", the female version of Maestro - "master")  
>  _Ritorna pronto, ragazzo._ \- Go home soon, young man.  
>  _Jaa ne!_ \- See you!
> 
>  
> 
> If you like what you've read, I always appreciate kudos and comments! Hits let me know you're out there, Kudos let me know I have your attention, but Comments are the best way to show a writer your appreciation!
> 
> For nightly fic chapters and lots of reblogged YoI content, check out [my tumblr](http://kingfisherunion.tumblr.com)


	5. Vedi! le fosche notturne spoglie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Training begins, and both men make attempts to reach out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to start deliberately dropping more songs in - I name dropped another of my favorite singers to make up for it, linking my favorite aria of his! Once the boys start singing, there will be plenty of opportunities to share more beautiful music!
> 
> Last chapter, Minako warned Viktor not to touch Yuuri where he's most vulnerable - that's a reference to [Uno voce poco fa](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mDyXqf0at_w) from _The Barber of Seville,_ by Gioachino Rossini.

[Vedi! le fosche notturne spoglie](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WEMMVHAINFM)

 

When firm hands pull Yuuri out of bed and out of sleep, the Pom Pom Pudding clock next to his bed reads 5:10.

“Boot Camp starts today, _porcellino!_  Let’s repair that poor, neglected instrument!” Viktor’s smile is the only source of light, considering the sun hasn’t risen, and it’s still bright enough to hurt Yuuri’s eyes.

“Viktor! It’s still dark out!” He groans from the floor under a barrage of kisses from Makkachin, who is just as determined as her master to wake him up. “You didn’t tell me last night we were waking up this early!”

Viktor pulls him up out of Makkachin’s reach, practically holding him on his feet as his head starts to clear. “Well I _would have_ , if you hadn’t shut yourself away after you moved me in! And then, I would have given you until six! I had to make time for reviewing our intensive training schedule!” Yuuri lets out another little groan, groping for his glasses. “Before breakfast you’ve got ladders and hundreds to do. I have to go now and set up, so meet me at the kitchen entrance in ten minutes. Every minute you’re late is another rung on your ladder.” Yuuri finds his glasses just in time to see that sunny smile break wide open into a toothy grin.

He has no clue what ladders or hundreds are.

He throws on some track shorts and a tank top and makes it to the kitchen entrance five minutes early so he can get the run-down of this horrifying-sounding workout. He finds Viktor setting up two lengths of rope at opposite ends of the driveway.

The workout is, indeed, horrifying.

“Run to the end, ten burpees, run back, ten crunches. Next time, nine burpees, run back for nine crunches. All the way down to one. That’s your warmup,” he says. “You can have two minutes for water before your hundreds: 100 jumping jacks, 90 seconds of plank, 80 squats, 70 leg lifts, 60 jumping jacks, 50-second plank, 40 squats, 30 leg lifts, 20 jumping jacks, and a ten-minute run. Any questions?”

Yuuri tries not to look intimidated. He still has no clue how he came to be in this position. But he’s not going to risk losing it. Last night, he and Viktor talked so easily, hauling boxes up the stairs together. Viktor, as he had been in the dining room, was astoundingly laid-back and patient, given the less-than-warm welcome Yuuri had offered.

He liked Mom’s katsudon, too.

And for some reason, he seems invested in coaching Yuuri.

And it is all pretty amazing. And overwhelming. And exciting. And Yuuri can’t believe how happy he at the prospect of ruining his body at five in the morning, because he’s going to do it with Viktor fucking Nikiforov.

 _Or at least he hopes he is. “_ Viktor… you’re going to do these with me… right?”

Viktor’s laugh is lyrical and so uncharacteristically uncool, causing his nose to scrunch and his eyes to crinkle. Yuuri wants to make him laugh as much as he can.

“I think that will give ladders quite a competitive edge. Sure, I’ll do them too. But let’s not forget to stretch! May I…?”

Viktor insists on assisting Yuuri in his stretches, and just like earlier this morning, his hand is steady and firm. Yuuri likes the way he asks before each little touch, even if it’s just with a little lift of his eyebrows. He was so pushy yesterday; today he is professional but personal.

He thought he knew at least something about Viktor from years of watching him compete. But the Viktor that seemed so focused and aloof and ice-cold at competitions is nowhere to be seen here. This Viktor is humming Sondheim and filling in lines with character voices as they stretch, laughing that silly laugh when his voice cracks.

Yuuri feels like letting his guard down around this Viktor – except that it’s day one, and they haven’t even started their first real workout, and Viktor is a minute away from seeing just how out of shape Yuuri really is. He can’t let himself have any expectations. Optimistic, _not_ hopeful, is the name of this game, if he’s going to avoid getting hurt when Viktor realizes the mistake he’s making.

Viktor squeezes his hand gently as he helps him to his feet, practically dragging him to their starting line.

“Call out your numbers when you finish a set,” he instructs, hand on one hip, indicating vaguely toward the end of the drive. “I’ll do the same. Ready?”

_No…_

“Uhh… as ready as I’ll ever be.”

Viktor laughs again, and Yuuri’s out of breath before he even begins. Viktor starts some music on his phone, quiet enough that Yuuri can hear it if he keeps in step, and zips it away into some kind of hidden pocket in his wicking shirt.

“Ok… go!”

The workout is grueling. Yuuri’s chest burns with every heaving breath, and he instantly regrets asking Viktor to join him. The long-legged Russian calls his first “nine!” before Yuuri has even finished his ten.

“Come on! Keep up!” He shoots as he jogs past. Yuuri finds his pace around rung seven, but even Still the burn of ever movement has him lifting his arms only halfway when he knows Viktor’s not looking, stepping instead of hopping, lifting up on his toes instead of jumping. He is drenched in sweat in the muggy summer morning, and he feels like he is going to cry, or throw up, or both. Each ragged breath tears through him and escapes with a little groan.

Viktor finishes his ladders as Yuuri starts his fours.

“Don’t you skip those jumps! It doesn’t count if your feet don’t leave the ground! _Yuuri,_ you’re almost there! Push!”

Yuuri pushes. He can’t let Viktor see how badly this is destroying him.

“Three,” he gasps.

“I can’t hear you!”

_“Three!”_

“Good, Yuuri, don’t give up. This is the last stretch! Break out!”

_“Two!”_

The last few rungs are like a reward for the first few. Yuuri feels his control returning to his limbs in the last stretch. _Viktor is actually cheering him on!_

_“One!”_

“Yes, Yuuri! Go get a drink – hundreds are next!”

 

Mari's eyebrows shoot up when Yuuri enters the kitchen.

“That’s the guy, right?” she asks excitedly, tossing him a towel from above the sink.  He cringes before remembering that Viktor doesn’t speak Japanese.  “Yuuri, that’s your…”

 _“I know!”_ Yuuri hisses, dabbing at his forehead.  “Don’t ask, I don’t know.  I don’t know why he’s here.  I don’t know what’s going on.  He said he wants to train me.  I don’t know. Oh my god,”  he wheezes, doubled over, bracing against the ache in his stomach.

“Train you?  As an opera singer, or a world-class athlete? _”_ she snickers.  Yuuri chucks his sweat-dampened towel at her, causing her to drop a stack of plates in the sink.  “Shit!  Okay!”

“Just… can I… water?” he pants, grabbing a water bottle from the shelf and pushing his way towards the sink.  “I think this has something to do with that video.  It’s not a lot to go on, so I don’t know how long it will last.”

Mari claps a hand between his shoulder blades, loosening a cough from his chest.  Yuuri’s first sip of water sprays out into the sink.

“When will you ever stop worrying for long enough to be grateful?” she asks.  “Little brother, I’ll never understand the way you torture yourself.  Have a good workout.  Some of us need to do work around here.” 

Yuuri takes another swing and just barely misses as Mari ducks back out into the dining room. 

“Yuuuuri!” Viktor calls from outside.  “Do I need to add another ten minutes to your run?”

 

The second half of the workout is nowhere near as devastating as the first, although Yuuri learns early on that leg lifts and squats are not his strength, and by the second round of planks he is shaking like a leaf.  If Viktor is disappointed in him, he keeps it to himself, but from his rough breathing Yuuri figures he’s too engaged in the exercise to notice. 

When he can sneak glances of the older man, Yuuri indulges in the way Viktor’s pale skin flushes bright pink, his hair just slightly damp and sticking to his forehead, the heave of his chest as he counts out loud.  He knows he can’t possibly look _that_ beautiful. His sweat-drenched clothes cling to his skin, and there’s a Yuuri-shaped wet mark on the pavement beneath him.

By the time they finish their twenty jumping jacks the two singers are both so starving they decide to forego the ten-minute run.  By they’re both showered and dressed, Hiroko has one full hotel breakfast set out for Viktor and a plate of two soft-boiled eggs over vegetables for Yuuri.

“Viktor’s orders!” she chimes.  “Eat up while the yolks are perfect!”

Grumbling, Yuuri sets the dishes on the table and makes a beeline for the coffee pot.  Reaching out to pour himself a much-needed cup of caffeine, he’s stopped by a warm hand on his wrist.

He looks up in horror, only to be met with ice-blue eyes, looking him over with mild amusement.  Viktor, freshly-showered and pristinely put-together, pushes an already-hot mug into Yuuri’s hand.

_Green tea?_

“Viktor’s orders,” the Russian all but purrs, and the brush of his thumb on Yuuri’s wrist is so surprisingly intimate that he almost spills burning tea all over their hands in his effort to pull away.

It must be so obvious that Yuuri’s got a crush, and with a little bit of resentment he realizes Viktor has been appealing to his attraction in order to get him to do what he wants.  It’s the only reason Yuuri can think of to explain all the little touches, the sultry voice that resonates deep in his chest even when Viktor speaks low, the intensity and heat behind those cool blue eyes.  Yuuri is being played like a fiddle, and if it were anyone else, he would have them out on their ass in a moment.  Hell, he’d kick [Dmitri Hvorostovsky](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TKDXr_fimQ8) out before Viktor.  Besides, if what Viktor wants is to make him a better singer, who is he to say no?  He’ll just have to keep his guard up and remember it’s a game, remember it’s not real, if he’s going to avoid getting hurt.

“Hiroko-san and I spent some time discussing your diet while you showered,” Viktor says in between sips of delicious-smelling coffee.  “Your meals from now on will consist of vegetables and lean proteins; you’ll get all your carbohydrates from legumes.  You’ll have one cheat day per week.  You’ll drink water or herbal tea from this point on, with the exception of one cup of green tea each morning.  Caffeine is notoriously hard on your vocal instrument.”  He sips his drink with a cheeky, knowing smile, and Yuuri isn’t sure whether he wants to smack him, or cry, or launch across the table and kiss him.  He opts for none of the above.  “You can drink on your cheat day if you like, but two is your limit,” Viktor says.  “Is this too much?  It’s the diet Yakov implements for all of his new students.  He can be pretty severe; we can always adjust it if you feel overwhelmed.”

Yuuri shakes his head.  This is pretty good, actually.  Even with Phichit looking out for him in Detroit, he’s never had anyone really hold him accountable for this kind of stuff.  It’s always been his own responsibility to keep his eating and exercise in order.  And as it should be, but still. Maybe he should be more outraged, but this is going to get him Singing With Viktor, so no, he isn’t, and yes, he’s going to fucking exercise. Depression be damned.

His vegetables and eggs are delicious and gone way too soon. He sips his tea as Viktor slides a packet of papers towards him.

“This is our focus for the foreseeable future, Yuuri. I have included here a list of scores and anthologies you’ll need – no doubt Minako-san will be able to provide some of these. Yuuri-“ He leans in close across the table, snatching up both Yuuri’s hands into his, and for once the motion isn’t intrusive or personal but serious and determined. “-you are going to disagree with me, but I need your trust. If it doesn’t work, we will return immediately to your old rep. Can you trust me with your voice?”

_What the fuck is going on?_

Yuuri stares at the page in front of him. He can hardly process the new information at first, but when he does, he’s not sure how to respond. Is this a joke?

“Viktor… I think you made a mistake; this is all mezzo material.” Viktor raises his eyebrows patiently, expectantly, and the realization hits Yuuri like a ton of bricks. “You don’t really think I’m-“

“-a countertenor? Generally a baritone voice with a strong falsetto? Actually, Yuuri, I do. I think that you can be one of the best countertenors there is.”

Yuuri’s heart beats against his chest, and at first he thinks it might be from the unwarranted praise, but he soon realizes no, that’s panic, he’s panicking. He grips the papers in his hand, trying to breathe steady. One of the best? He’s nowhere near a _good_ baritone, let alone the _best_. And that’s the voice part he’s been honing and fine-tuning for _years!_ Switching voice parts at 23 years old sounds like career suicide, especially switching to the rarest, most difficult, most prized male voice part there is!

“My high range is my weakest,” he gulps, ducking his head so Viktor can’t see the shame and fear painted across his face.

Viktor tuts patiently. “According to your _Stammi Vicino_ , it isn’t. What’s high for a baritone anyway? E4? Yuuri, if anything, that’s your _passagio._ ”

“Viktor… I don’t think I can…”

He stops himself before he can finish. Because if he finishes this sentence, Viktor is going to leave. After all, he asked for trust. Yuuri swallows hard. “I mean… okay. I will try it. I… I trust you, Viktor.”

And although Yuuri has seen Viktor smile hundreds of times before, onstage and off, at competitions and voice programs, the smile that shines across the table at him now has something more, something _real_ that he’s never really picked up before. It’s there in Viktor’s eyes and his shoulders. He feels privileged to have seen it, to have solicited it in any way, but he can’t help but feel like he doesn’t quite deserve it. 

 

* * *

 

 

Viktor could not be more ecstatic. 

“Keep up, Yuuri! We skipped our run earlier this morning, so you’ve got to keep record pace!”

Yuuri moans behind him.

“But… you’re… on… a bike…” he puffs, but all the same he pushes his speed a little bit.

Viktor knows he’s working the younger man hard.

Viktor can’t stop. He needs to keep on moving.  Last night, when he and Yuuri had a job to do, they connected and had fun.  In the moments of downtime, however, the younger man would pull away, unreceptive to Viktor’s little attempts to reach out and connect on a more personal level.

It makes sense, too.  He has to keep reminding himself that Yuuri never did ask him here to be anything more than a coach.

He never said “be my boyfriend” or “be my lover,” or even “be my quick fling.”

Be my _coach_.

If that’s what Yuuri needs in order to open up, Viktor is happy to oblige. Yuuri made him excited to sing again for the first time in years.  If he can’t get Yuuri excited too, his own motivation is meaningless. 

He’s not ready to accept that. He  _needs_ to see the Yuuri he remembers from karaoke, the Yuuri who filled up an entire room with his personality, who reached through the screen of his phone and touched him right at the heart of one of his deepest, truest feelings.  

For some reason, Yuuri has twice now opened up that side of himself to Viktor, and then tucked it away again.  Viktor had to wait four months after the first meeting.  He can't do that again.  He wants to know more.

“Left,” Yuuri pants, trotting alongside him now. “It’s up here on the left.”

They stop in front of a little storefront and Viktor takes in the charm of the outside display – colorful flowers frame little statues of animals playing musical instruments on either side of the glass doors.  The awning is a bold black-and-white keyboard pattern, and a little sign in the window reads “PianoPiano!” in a playful script.

The more of Hasetsu Viktor sees, the more he wants to see.  This shop is a refreshing foil to his Yakov’s studio, sober and serious with its classical décor and entirely un-ironic busts of famous composers.  As Yuuri pushes through the door, he calls out a short greeting, and fails to suppress a snort when Viktor tries to copy it quietly behind him.

“I guess I’ll have to teach you some basic phrases, huh?” he says with a half-smile.  Viktor’s face burns, and he quickly deflects when a familiar-looking young woman makes her way over to them.  Her red hair is pulled up in a messy bun and her scarf, like the awnings, is printed with piano keys.

“Hi!” Viktor says, hand outstretched in her direction.  “I’m Viktor Nikiforov.  I’ll be Yuuri’s coach from now on!”

The girl stares at him, dumbfounded, as she shakes his hand.  Yuuri pulls her into a quick aside, speaking Japanese in a low and hurried tone.  Their eyes dart back to him, and the girl breaks into a warm smile. 

“I really thought I was in trouble for a second, there,” she sighs, and holds out her hand for a proper shake.  “You can call me Yuuko-san.  My daughters were behind the whole… the video fiasco.  I’m sorry about that, by the way.  If I had known they were going to try that I would have made them ask both you and Yuuri for permission.” 

 _So Yuuri didn’t upload the video himself?_   Viktor feels his smile stiffen.  This trip continues to get more and more confusing.

“I was hoping we could procure some practice time with you,” he recites, pulling a packet from his messenger bag.  “Yuuri’s going to need a rehearsal accompanist while he’s home, after all, if he’s going to have a program ready in time for the Lilia Baranovskaya International Voice Competition in Beijing!”

“The L-!  The B-!  That _what?_ Viktor, that’s in _October!_ ” Yuuri stammers. 

Viktor can’t help himself.  This side of Yuuri is so new to him.  The more he sees, the more he wants to see.

“Oh?  Did I not tell you?”  he asks, as if he absolutely did, as if he didn’t make it up right this second.  “Of course you’re going.  I have to take Yakov’s place on the panel for juniors, anyway, and give a few master classes, and it will be the perfect opportunity to introduce your new program!”  He turns to Yuuko.  “Your friend Yuuri is going to become the world’s best countertenor.”

A small commotion erupts from somewhere beyond the showroom, and three little identical faces peek out from the curtain to the back.  Yuuko’s smile is apologetic and courteous as she ducks her head, excusing herself from the conversation.

“Of course I’ll do it!” she says as she heads towards the back, “I was wondering when he was going to do something with that high range!  Let me grab our studio schedule and make sure the girls don’t have their phones!”

She’s barely broken eye contact when her sweet, friendly demeanor gives way to commanding mother.  Yuuri hides a giggle with the back of his hand at his friend’s shouting. Their eyes meet briefly and Viktor’s heart skips a beat, but when the Japanese man catches him looking the pink in his cheeks deepens and he turns away quickly.

It will be a miracle if he’s ever able to get close enough to him to conduct a proper coaching.

“Yuuri,” he says, hoping he doesn’t sound reproachful, hoping on top of that anything he says is enough to get another look at those caramel-brown eyes. “Why do I keep getting apologies about _Stammi vicino?_

Maybe it’s the wrong thing to say. Yuuri doesn’t look up. He scuffs his sneaker against the tiled floor, shoulders tense.

“It’s just… I was just practicing the song for fun. Because I liked it,” he mumbles, head ducking lower, “I didn’t mean for anyone to see it.”

“Well, I’m glad I got to see it,” Viktor presses, biting back his apprehension and reaching out to lay a hand on Yuuri’s shoulder. The younger man dodges out of his way.

“Can we not… it didn’t mean anything, okay?” He snaps.

“Oh.” _Be my coach._ “Okay.” _Be nothing but my coach._

Viktor wants to ask just how much of their interactions up until now meant anything. He can practically hear Chris’ “I told you so” ringing in his ears over the tense silence that hangs between the two men. Embarrassed at how let-down he feels, he sucks in a deep breath, grounding himself, letting it go as slowly as he can.

He can always back out, if he thinks he’ll get hurt. But he doesn’t want to back out, especially now that Yuuri’s agreed to try out countertenor rep.

 _He has to stick around to hear that_. If all he gets is the opportunity to hear and watch Yuuri sing for the summer, he’ll be happy.

Then again, the more he hears, the more he wants.

He wants.

It’s clear Yuuri did not have the intentions Viktor thought he did, but it appears he had some intentions, because they are here together working out an intensive schedule.

If all Yuuri is looking for is a coach, it would be insulting to try to offer romance on the side. It would be seriously unprofessional. He’s not willing to hurt his new inspiration in that way. He’s not willing to try anything that might cause Yuuri to want to end it.

He wants Yuuri’s time, if only just for now. He’ll do whatever it takes.

Yuuko rescues him from the responsibility of breaking the silence.

“I’m sorry we don’t have many openings,” she says, accommodating smile painted on her face. “I’m sure Minako would give you some studio time too, if you need anything more.”

Without a word, Viktor fills out one time slot per day, then two extra slots, one Monday and one Thursday.  The girls looks it over and gives him a nod.

“We’ll only need you for one of the slots on the days when there are two,” he instructs, indicating to the chart.  “I want to reserve time to work exclusively on technique.  Does this work for you?”

Yuuri remains silent and distant as they discuss pay rates. Yuuko makes a copy of the schedule, goodbyes are exchanged, and the two men turn to make their way back to the inn for lunch.

Viktor doesn’t make Yuuri run.  He doesn’t say anything at all, in fact.  He pedals along, matching pace, working hard to keep his eyes on the road. It’s too compelling to inspect his student’s face for any window into what he’s thinking, and once he’s that far it’s way too easy to get lost in their sparkle, questioning and focused inward.

He’s in the middle of calculating whether it’s too late in  Zurich to cry to Chris over Skype when Yuuri steps in front of his bike, causing him to skid to a halt.

“Yuuri! What-“

Yuuri braces his arms on the handlebars, leaning in close with eyes that burn with determination. 

“I wanted to sing _Stammi vicino_ because I haven’t been very in touch with my music, lately,” he says, and Viktor has to be careful what he wishes for, because there is nothing in his line of sight except for doe-brown eyes that glitter in the sunlight. Yuuri commands his attention, undivided and entirely invested. “I lost my music, Viktor. I fell out of love with singing long before I tanked at Sochi, and that art song… that made me want to find it again. It was the last thread of the rope I’ve been trying to keep a hold on for the past year, and it’s embarrassing, because I should have just asked about it directly instead of-“

“-pimping out your accompanist?” Viktor suggests, relief washing over him and bringing with it his usual mirth. He’s starting to get a hang of this pattern. Yuuri opens and closes in front of him, daring to reach out, then shrinking away again. He’ll have to take advantage of these little moments, reaching back to meet him where he stands.

He’s so cute when he’s flustered.

“No! No, no, no! They were already… I just asked if while he was at it… I wouldn’t use Peach like that, and he wouldn’t use another living soul like that!!”

Viktor laughs and puts his hands on Yuuri’s shoulders.

“Yuuri… If that’s how you felt singing that piece, that just means you understand exactly how I felt writing it. Do you have any idea how reassuring it was, to see that someone else saw and knew those feelings?” He draws from the intensity in Yuuri’s gaze and returns it, daring him not to look away. “Not only that, Yuuri, you made it so much more than I ever could. I always thought my song was an epitaph. I grieved a love that once was. But you? You made it into an invitation. A new beginning. I never really heard my own song until that video.” He realizes he might be rambling and pauses, offering a smile and letting his hand brush down the length of Yuuri’s arm. His skin is impossibly soft compared to his dri-fit shirt, and he can’t help himself. “Okay? How could I be mad at that? It brought me all the way here, didn’t it?”

A soft smile flickers in those deep, caramel eyes. Yuuri nods, but his body language is already telling Viktor he’s taken the physical touch a step too far, and there’s an awkward silence as the two men straighten, still not breaking eye contact, but establishing a safe and respectful distance.

 _I can do this_ , Viktor thinks.

“Now, after lunch, take me to see Minako. You’re going to need a weekly session with her to work on interpretations. Then, I want to see that amazing castle!”

He doesn’t go in when they reach the old mezzo’s studio later that afternoon, pretending to have to make a phone call while Yuuri works out the final aspects of his training schedule. He’s not a total liar, and he takes the opportunity to shoot Chris a quick text while he waits.

 

_Things are going a little better today._

**Кристоф:** Darling, respectfully, it’s 4 in the morning, so unless you two fucked, I don’t really care.

_You’re a horrible friend._

_I love you._

**Кристоф:** If you think about it’s that’s the same attitude that got you into this Katsuki mess.

_I like this mess._

_I think I can do it._

**Кристоф:** until he backpedals

 **Кристоф:** I told you, he’s a sadist

_That explains why you were after him._

**Кристоф:** oh, how I wish you were wrong.

 **Кристоф:** just kidding, I love that you’re right.

It’s with a renewed sense of security and excitement, despite Chris’ warnings, that Viktor and Yuuri make their way to the spot that the latter insists is the best for pictures. Viktor listens with amazement as Yuuri points out little places of interest, embellishing their beautiful surroundings with a blend of the village’s history and his own personal experiences. He stole manga out of that store when he was seven and was so ashamed that he returned the next day to give it back and apologize on his knees. The owner was so amused that he let him keep the book anyway. That convenience store has been around since his grandparents were kids, and the same family still owns it. Minako let him give those kids piano lessons when he was in high school, since they were so young.

The more of Hasetsu Viktor sees, the more he wants to see. He wants to find the little pieces of Yuuri hidden in their little special places around the small, historic town.

It’s pretty nice here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations  
>  _porcellino_ \- little pig  
>  _passagio_ \- a difficult note or cluster of notes between a singer's low and high registers
> 
>  
> 
> If you like what you've read, I always appreciate kudos and comments! Hits let me know you're out there, Kudos let me know I have your attention, but Comments are the best way to show a writer your appreciation!
> 
> For nightly fic chapters and lots of reblogged YoI content, check out [my tumblr](http://kingfisherunion.tumblr.com)


	6. Se tu m'ami

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor and Yuuri get drinks. Someone new shows up in Hasetsu.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! Here it is! I'm totally putting this chapter up instead of studying for my early childhood development exam! Whoops!  
> So, writing has been difficult with school starting up, but I promise, even if my pace has slowed, it will stay steady and I will keep churning out chapters as often as I can manage.
> 
> I didn't add in any easter eggs this time, but I made sure to link more things than I have been recently. You've got a few things to listen to this time around if you'd like!

[Se tu m'ami](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=THTUCtExVbo)

 

If someone told Yuuri two weeks ago that he’d be slipping into a comfortable routine with Viktor Nikiforov, he would have laughed, or even cried, for how ridiculous it sounds. It’s still pretty hard to believe that they’re chatting away over breakfast for the tenth day in a row, having already finished their morning workout. He can barely lift his arm to bring his tea to his lips after both the pushups and the endurance plank, but he has to admit, his body hasn’t felt this good in ages.

It’s hard to believe he’s been given so much of Viktor’s time.

For two weeks, they’ve been up with the sun together, devoted and immersed in Operation Castability – which Yuuri has finally worked out to mean conditioning his body to fit both the physical demands of singing and the preferred physique of a performer – then burning through day after day with a combination of vigorous rudimentary exercises in the studio, compulsory independent time in the practice room, indulgently-frequent baths, and long, lazy meals together like this one, where they find themselves sitting and talking long after they’ve cleared their plates.

He’s spent two weeks with Viktor before.  They’ve done more than one young artist program in more than one foreign country of a comparable duration, and Yuuri would be a dishonest man if he didn’t admit that his focus was never quite as much on himself during these trips than it was on his older counterpart.

But they never walked down quiet streets together, or decompressed over five straight episodes of Project Runway, or _anything_ together. They almost never crossed paths. Viktor was almost always rubbing elbows with whatever big name was hosting them or going off on side-trips to compete or audition in a nearby city.  On the other hand, Yuuri was out every night chasing away the late-night anxiety that comes with sleeping a continent away from anything close to home, dragging Phichit and Chris to discothèques and nightclubs and anywhere he could drink enough to sleep easy.  Pretty soon Phichit had to establish a “twice a week” rule and the Thai pianist sacrificed most of his evenings to pumping Yuuri full of enough chick flicks and sleepytime tea to keep him sane.

He wants to talk to Viktor about the programs they’ve done together, but he doesn’t know how to approach it without having to unpack all that baggage.

So instead, they spend this morning talking Broadway musicals and planning their day off – his first cheat day on the Yakov diet. Viktor apparently has an entire freaking Ted Talk up his sleeve on the way [Sondheim](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stephen_Sondheim) singlehandedly changed the face of musical theatre, and like, _yeah_ , but also it isn’t fair to call him “The only Stephen Broadway needs” and Yuuri is working too hard on formulating his rebuttal to pay full attention.

(So far it consists of “But Wicked _and_ Godspell _and_ Pippin, though!” which probably isn’t enough.)

“Anyway,” Viktor says through a mouthful of egg, “you could easily argue he actually _reverted_ back to the structure of most romantic-era operas when he decided to re-incorporate plot elements into the song instead of reiterating a theme or idea that’s already been established.. He trusts the [quartet](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0PrTkcfFGkk) and the [quintet](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MyUV3hIL-G0) as much as any classical composer did, and there’s something to be said about the way his [chorus numbers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f8kxlNpyzrE) move the plot! I love him.  His use of [leitmotif](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Leitmotif)?  I just love him. I’m a total disciple. Hey, can I take you out for those two cheat day drinks this evening?”

“I don’t think you’re giving [Stephen Schwartz](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stephen_Schwartz_\(composer\)) the credit he deserv- wait, what?” The question processes as Yuuri’s argument comes spilling out of his mouth, and now that he’s caught up it hits him like a ton of bricks and he’s stuck, mouth agape, not sure how to answer.

He expected dinner and drinks, so why is his heart racing? They’ve shared every meal for the past nine days – that’s 27 meals – so why is he so nervous, all of a sudden? Why does everything and the next feel like too good to be true?

Something close to apprehension flashes for a moment in Viktor’s eyes, and as the Russian shrinks back a little ways Yuuri realizes he’s spent a good few seconds gaping at his coach.

“Yuuri,” Viktor says, voice low, his hand jerking up to entangle itself in his bangs, “all you have to do is say no, if you don’t…” He bites his lip, cutting himself off, and it’s _unfair_ , how beautiful he is.  The cynical grumbling in some dark corner of Yuuri’s mind reminds him of that. That, and of the idea that beautiful people have a beautiful tool for beautiful manipulation.

Like, he kind of just assumed he and Viktor would do… _whatever_ , together. The absurdity that he could ever have the opportunity to take that for granted isn’t lost on him. It’s just… that sounds like a _real_ invitation, like a _date_ invitation. As if, even though Yuuri has practically talked about nothing but all the places in town he’s going to take Viktor for their cheat day dinners, the older man still adheres to the formality of asking. Like he appreciates the intimacy of drinks shared between two people.

“Yuuri?” Viktor asks.

 “Um, no, sorry, yes. I mean?” _Jesus Christ, Yuuri, just TALK!_ “I do want. Drinks with you. Are… are you sure you just want to go to the _izakaya_? We can do something nicer if you want.”

Viktor’s gaze is sharp and hinted with something hard to read. Yuuri’s stupid, over-analyzing brain is telling him it’s revulsion at the frenzied rambling born from a simple question, or possibly worse, concern that Yuuri Is Not Okay, which would be so accurate and a gateway to discovering just how messed up his head is at any given moment, and ultimately it would be the beginning of the end.  Viktor wouldn’t want that around.  Not when there was so much better literally _anywhere_ else.

“Yuuri,” he repeats, in that same tone, low and careful and directed, “It’s _your_ cheat day, not mine.  Just take me where you want to go.  Okay?”

“O-okay.”

Viktor’s patience and care melt away into _that_ smile – the one Yuuri’s only seen here in Hasetsu. 

“Now then,” he grins, “let’s take Makkachin down to the beach today, shall we? He says the seagulls remind him of the ones back home!”  He stands and extends a hand to help Yuuri onto his own feet, squeezing his knuckles with his usual firm grip.  Another thing Yuuri never thought would become commonplace. There’s an odd security in the gentle pressure of Viktor’s fingers against his own, or on his back as they stretch, or on his shoulder as he adjusts the younger man’s posture in a lesson.  He’s not forceful or overbearing, like a businessman who’s coded his body language to convey confidence in every little action, just steady and reassuring.

And Yuuri has _got_ to be reading way too much into this, right?

 

* * *

 

 

 **KatsudonYuuri:**  
What’s it mean when someone touches you with firm hands?

 **PeachY:**  
WOW, screenshot  
Lord Gaga has BLESST me with this divine message from Katsuki Yuuri  
I’m making this my lock screen for LIFE

 **KatsudonYuuri:**  
NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO  
PHICHIT NO

 **PeachY:**  
[wallpaperforlife.jpg]  
PHICHIT YES

 **KatsudonYuuri:**  
I mean on the HAND  
and the SHOULDER  
and I SEE YOU TYPING DON’T YOU ADD TO THIS LIST

 **PeachY:**  
and the BUTT  
ยาหยี, the fact that you would ask what that means comprises 87% of what I love about you but baby you are DUMB  
THAT BOY WANTS YOU

 **KatsudonYuuri:**  
I don’t have a goddamn clue what that boy wants but it definitely isn’t me, that’s for sure  
I can tell that from every time he grabs his hair in frustration when we’re singing  
or just now when he had to sit and patiently explain to me that it’s okay for me to pick where we get drinks tonight

 **PeachY:**  
Sadf;alskdjfodiafj;sdkWHAT CASE ARE YOU TRYING TO MAKE HERE  
HE!  
WANTS!  
TO!  
GET!  
DRINKS!  
WITH!  
YOU!

 **KatsudonYuuri:**  
I’m!  
The!  
Only!  
Person!  
He!  
Knows!  
Here!

 **PeachY:**  
DEAR BUDDHA SLAM THIS BITCH  
I’m going to throw my phone.  
I can’t talk to you about this anymore today.  
Just try to imagine for a second that he thinks more highly of you than you do  
Since, like, *everyone* thinks more highly of you than you do  
Okay?

 **KatsudonYuuri:**  
Okay.

 **PeachY:**  
I love you.  
Tell me all about your date.  
Go get ‘em, beautiful.

 **KatsudonYuuri:**  
♥it’s♥not♥a♥date♥

 

 

* * *

 

 

Two drinks with Viktor is amazing.  Two drinks with Viktor is unreal.  Yuuri wishes he could have two drinks with Viktor forever.

Well, okay, so two drinks turned into a bottle of wine – _which_ , if you think about it, is basically two drinks apiece, albeit two very large drinks, and Yuuri is in that perfect place past tipsy where he has to keep wiggling his nose to make sure it’s there – it’s there, but he checks every few minutes anyway, first just to be sure, and then just because it’s fun. He’s in the place right past buzzed where it feels good to press his lips against anything – his fingertips, his arm, the cool edge of his glass … even just pressing them together is delightfully tingly; he finds himself drawing them in and rolling them between his teeth, then pouting them forward into a duckface to rival Phichit’s. He’s thinking a lot about his lips, and all the ways it’s fun to play with them, and he wonders if Viktor’s lips are fun to play with when he’s tipsy, whether they feel this plush and soft when pressed against his own. _Oh god, he’s thinking of kissing Viktor!_ The very thought is enough to make him giddy, and he claps his hands over his mouth to hide a capricious grin.

They pigged out.  They pigged out on fried food, and normally Yuuri would be beating himself up, but he is just so damn _happy_ to be a bottle under with Viktor Fucking Nikiforov, laughing and joking through recounts of their past performances, casually bumping up against one another atop their stools at the crowded bar.

“-so not only are we doing [The Medium](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Medium), _on Halloween_ , but also- Viktor?” Yuuri twists in his seat to emphasize that he’s going to need complete and undivided attention for this, “-also in a _barn_ , dirt floor and all, surrounded by, uh, _every damn hunting trophy they could fit on those walls!_ ”

Viktor reels back, face twisted in a mixture of surprise and horror and amusement all at once.  “Was it an allergy nightmare?” He asks, enthralled, sipping intently on his wine without losing eye contact.

“More importantly, was it an _actual total nightmare?_ ” Yuuri corrects, and Viktor bursts into laughter, head tipped back.  “Viktor, Baba sang her [aria](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p-RFiL6S09U) to a stuffed raccoon!”

Viktor’s laugh hits him so he doubles over, face almost hitting his forehead against the bar, with nose scrunched and his eyes squeezed shut and involuntary tears streaming down his cheeks.  “She didn’t!  Oh, Yuuri, tell me she didn’t! Hideous!”

Wine looks good on Viktor.  Somewhere in between drinks one and two he started absent-mindedly mussing his fingers through his silver hair.  Now it’s laying perfectly-touseled, the ice and fire in his blue eyes diffused and hazy, and Yuuri’s New Favorite Shade of Pink is beginning to creep across his cheeks and nose. The lower lip of his heart-shaped smile is stained a dark, luscious red.  He’s picture perfect, even when he drinks, even when he works out, even when his hair is wet and clinging to his head in the hot springs. 

Undeniable beauty aside, Viktor is not so intimidating as he likes to let on. In fact, he’s kind of a dork.  He laughs too-loud and too-long when Yuuri starts doing his impression of Anastasiya Fyodorova, who coaches in the United States following her father’s legacy as the chair of the St. Petersburg Opera.  He’s probably laughing at Yuuri’s incomprehensible attempt at a Russian accent, Yuuri can’t possibly be funny enough to get him laughing so hard he almost chokes.  But along with that laughter comes Viktor leaning involuntarily into Yuuri’s shoulder, practically knocking him off the stool, and dear god, he’ll lean into that pathetic accent for a little more of that touch.

He can’t help but think about what Phichit said to him earlier that day.  “That boy wants you!”  It’s… _wrong_ , Phichit is wrong, but it’s fun to imagine, anyway.  It’s fun to imagine, here, with Viktor’s cheek squished up against him.  With his hair, mussed as it is, tickling Yuuri’s jawline, sending little shivers down his spine.  The smell of his shampoo, and his wine-breath, and his cologne, his _everything_.  Yuuri will take what he can get, _tonight_ , while the alcohol has his anxiety at bay, and be grateful the gods let him get away with even that much.

Dork Viktor shares some of his own Maestra Fyodorova stories, including her tendency to refer to Pepsi as water and her shameless gossiping during rehearsals.

“She once gave me a bag of shawls and kaftans to give to my mother,” he muses, still on Yuuri’s shoulder.  “I kept all of them, of course, but the smell was-“

“-That awful perfume!” Yuuri interjects, all too familiar with the suffocating cloud of musk that followed his old coach everywhere, the one that was far too big for the little practice room where they worked together.

“Yes!” Viktor says, clapping his hands in delight.  “I had to wash them like five times.”

He’s never seen Viktor this relaxed.

“You look happy,” he blurts, and Viktor looks surprised for a moment before bursting into laughter.

“I’m glad,” Viktor chuckles, his head cocked in his direction, his silver bangs falling beautifully over his eyes. “I _am_ happy. It’s nice to go out and just let loose. I never really let myself do that before.”

The sentiment is sad, and Yuuri has seen the loneliness in Viktor’s eyes when he talks about his career, devoted and all-consuming, but he can’t help but feel a little warm knowing that something he and Viktor are doing together makes him happy.  Makes them _both_ happy.

 

* * *

 

 

Viktor is starting to get suspicious.

It’s fine, there’s nothing wrong, it’s not like he’s _not_ enjoying his evening out with Yuuri – on the contrary, he’s having more fun than he’s had since… God, since December probably, and Yuuri is at the center of it once again.

But that’s just the thing.  He’s been testing the waters for two weeks and getting the same lukewarm response: hands withdrawn, hasty retreats, eyes darting away nervously.  _Except tonight_.

Tonight they’re propped up on one another, heads together, opening up like he’s been trying to get Yuuri to do since he arrived.  The Japanese man even talked a little bit about his singing career – something that, despite being his coach and everything, he hasn’t been able to get out of him.

He wants to just enjoy himself, and he hates putting on a show, but there’s this niggling feeling just below the surface that he can’t shake.

They’re talking Bake-Off, a show Viktor picked up during a semester abroad in the UK, and which the two of them have been binging as part of their evening routine.

“Just wait until we get to series four, Yuuri! It’s my favorite yet. And Ruby? Oh, you’d love her. She’s always doubting herself but she makes it all the way to-“

“Spoilers!” Yuuri exclaims, swatting at Viktor’s hand, “Viktor, darling, I could listen to you talk about this show for hours, but I actually want to watch it!  Ooh--!”  He sits up a little and turns to look Viktor dead-on.  “We should try to make one of the desserts!”

Viktor’s eyes light up.

“Yes! I don’t know how to bake, but yes!”

Anything with Yuuri.  Anything where he can watch Yuuri work in that adorable but wholly admirable way he has of doing things, slow and precise and organized.  He really feels he has something to learn in that regard, and all the better if Yuuri is the one teaching it.

He hoists himself up using Yuuri’s shoulder as a support as he pulls a wad of bills out of his back pocket. “Come on, let’s go start series four, please, Yuuri? We can look for what we want to make!”

Yuuri stares at the money in Viktor’s hand. For the first time tonight, Viktor sees that flash of apprehension in his eyes.

“Viktor, you can’t…” He starts, but Viktor waves dismissively in his face.

“Yuuuuri,” He coos, drawing out the “u” just a hair longer than usual, sheepishly aware that he’s using the vocal equivalent of his puppy dog eyes, that it’s worked on just about anything non-romantic all week, which means Yuuri can’t resist, “you have been more hospitable as a host and a friend these past two weeks, at least let me show my gratitude! Come on, Mary Berry awaits!”

He hooks his arm through Yuuri’s and drags him out into the summer night. Yuuri is hanging on him with cheeks warm and rosy and dark eyes sparkling in the light of the streetlamps lining the road.  Yuuri’s head rests lightly on his shoulder, and it honestly sends his heart into a frantic flutter every time he looks down.

Where in the bar they chatted excitedly and roared with raucous laughter, now, walking arm in arm, the gentle crash of the ocean waves serenading them in the distance, the two singers lull into a comfortable silence.  Not a pause, which would suggest something coming after, not a rest with talking to resume, just soft and quiet stillness, the padding of their feet along the sidewalk the loudest thing between them.

If this is how every cheat day ends, this summer is going to be both heaven and hell. 

When they get back to the inn, Yuuri’s head is resting heavier than ever on Viktor’s side, his eyes sultry and sleepy.  _Adorable!_   In the interest of holding him up, Viktor shifts so his arm is fully around the younger man’s shoulders, absently brushing his thumb against’ Yuuri’s cheek as they ascend the stairs to their rooms.

“Do you still want to watch Bake-Off?” he asks when they get to Yuuri’s, idling awkwardly in the doorway.  Yuuri nods with a soft little smile and turns, backing through his door and pulling Viktor in with him.  Viktor’s laptop is still inside from their planning session earlier this evening, sitting next to Yuuri’s on the desk, and Viktor grabs it before settling lightly next to where Yuuri has already collapsed on the bed. 

The air is heavy and sweet, a deliciously heady combination of the summer heat and the fragrant vapors drifting off the hot spring, and Viktor casts an indulgent glance down at the enigmatic Katsuki Yuuri, stretching out over top of his sheets with nearly-exaggerated contentment. 

These moments, when the younger man is tired enough that he cools it on his seemingly constant worries, Viktor can’t help but appreciate the subtle softness in his determined features.  His lips are pink and full and torturously soft – he wonders if Yuuri knew this when he was teasing Viktor with them all evening, pouting and biting and pressing them up against anything and everything that wasn’t Viktor himself.

Not that he’s jealous.

When you got it, flaunt it, after all.

The satisfied smile on Yuuri’s face fades into a delicate little hum as Viktor brings up his video library, and the hum develops little by little into a familiar [tune](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JvKmBgxC_s4).

_“Je n’ai pas de regrets, et je n’ai qu’une envie: près de toi là, tout près, vivre toute ma vie que mon corps soit le tien, e ta lèvre la mienne, que ton Coeur soit le mien, et que toute ma chair soit tienne.”_

Why Yuuri has chosen this exact tune at this exact time, Viktor does not know.  It is beautiful and simple in the way that most romantic art songs are, and in Yuuri’s voice it’s practically musical pornography, making the hairs on the back of Viktor’s neck stand on end.

Satie’s _Je te veux_.  “I want you.” 

And here, he thought he didn’t know the meaning of Gay Panic.

He stares down his computer, unsure whether he’s supposed to respond to the song or not, but unsure what else to say if he doesn’t.  Was that some sort of direct reference to Sochi, the one topic that neither of them have even approached since it happened?  It’s not the only other time Yuuri’s spoken French with Viktor since, but it’s definitely the first time he’s used those words.  That phrase sticks with you.  Maybe tonight marks a milestone in their relationship.  Maybe two weeks was all it took for Yuuri to open up.

Then again, that sinking suspicion he felt at dinner still sits in his stomach.  He’s sort of seeing a pattern.

He won’t know until he asks, he thinks.  If Yuuri is letting him in, what better time than now to work this out?

 _“Yuuri… Ce qui arrivait à Sochi? Que voulais-tu dire?”_ he murmurs, barely over a whisper, and he can barely hear himself over the pounding in his ears. 

Yuuri is quiet.

He’s afraid to turn around, afraid to see the rejection in Yuuri’s eyes as he says, “I was just having fun,” or worse, “sorry Viktor, I just don’t see you like that.” 

Yuuri hasn’t answered for a few eons-long seconds, and when Viktor turns to try to read his face--

He finds the Japanese man already fast asleep, still dressed, glasses and all. 

 

 

_Chris, he’s an affectionate drunk._

**Кристоф:** Take a few moments to scroll back to our FIRST conversation about Katsuki and know that I warned you.

 _He was acting that way because he was drunk._  
oh my god.  
He did it again tonight!  
He pushes me away all day long but get a few drinks in him and

 **Кристоф:** Do you plan on finishing that sentence?

 _I don’t really know how to._  
What if he’s embarrassed?  
Oh, Chris, what if he thinks I’m judging him for it?  
That would explain why we’ve never spoken about it.

 **Кристоф:** This is the most frustrating soap opera of a predicament.

 **Кристоф:** Just talk to him, cher. Then you’ll both know.  Establish the relationship. No more confusion.

_That’s easy for you to say.  
You try to talk when he’s got those pouty lips out._

**Кристоф:** I have never had a problem talking to an attractive man, Niki, you know this.

 _Chris, he sang me an erotic art song while I tried to get Bake-Off to load._  
In French.  
Just like last time.  
What is it supposed to mean?!

 **Кристоф:** ASK.

 **Кристоф:** HIM.

 

Viktor’s pretty sure he won’t be asking Yuuri anything until he gets a sense of what the other man is feeling towards him in the present, not just in the past.  Maybe it will take another cheat day. 

Although Yuuri’s guard is up the next morning, just as Viktor suspected, the tension is not nearly as high as he expected as they warm up in the studio the next morning.  He decides to wait and see if the other man will bring it up first.  Besides, today is the big day – the day he promised Yuuri would finally be allowed to start working on repertoire.

There is a general air of anticipation buzzing around them both as Viktor runs Yuuri through his scales and arpeggios, through roulades and portamenti. He doesn’t have to tell Yuuri to smile with his eyes; he’s already doing it, and Viktor suspects it’s genuine.

“Very good, Yuuri,” he hums, changing keys and melodies to indicate he’s moving on to the next exercise. “Now, vowels, all one note, like this:” he indicates a phrase with his arm as he demonstrates. “ _ma-me-mi-mo-mu._ Your turn!”

He chuckles a bit when Yuuri imitates his gesture. “Good, good. Now this time, pay attention to the shape of your phrase: _crescendo, decrescendo._ ” He demonstrates again, exaggerating the soft-loud-soft pattern.  Yuuri recites the phrase back perfectly.

Yuuri’s musicianship is, quite frankly, staggering, and Viktor wishes they could just skate past the basics and on to the real fun stuff.  As rewarding as the slow work of re-conditioning a voice into a new register can be, it doesn’t hold a candle to the expressive fine-tuning that comes after.

They vocalize for a while, and up until today vocalization is all they would do, just a series of “oohs” and “ahs” in patterns that help Yuuri to connect to the flow of his breath and energize his vocal chords. They are, after all, just muscle, and muscles must be stretched before they’re used.

Yuuri watches him with eyes that burn with concentration, determined, no doubt, to show he is ready for what Viktor has brought him.

But… okay.

For all the excitement they’ve both been feeling leading up to this moment—

—after last night, he doesn’t want to hear Yuuri sing it.

And that isn’t to say he doesn’t think it suits the Japanese man perfectly. In fact, he’s had it picked out for actual _months_ now, and he can’t deny that he’s been thinking about the way this particular piece will sound in the clear, crisp timbre of Yuuri’s upper range. _A lot_.

No, there’s no other choice. He knows Yuuri will read into it like he did with _Stammi vicino_ , but he doesn’t care. As always, at the end of the day, it’s about the music, and Viktor wants to see his student use his voice to do amazing things. Terrible, delicious, amazing things.

Just… maybe not today?  The reality of last night is still too raw, the golden glint in Yuuri’s warm brown eyes too reminiscent of the coy glances being shot his way all night.  And _[Se tu m’ami](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=THTUCtExVbo)_ is… well.  _Steamy_.

He fiddles around on the piano keys a little bit to cue Yuuri to stop his warm-up.

“Okay, I think we’re good,” he mutters, shuffling a few sheets of music around while admittedly avoiding the intense gaze that he’s come to associate with Working Yuuri. “Tell me, what’s the last thing you and Minako worked on?”

“O-oh.” Yuuri sighs, and although he’s meticulously examining the keys of the baby grand piano, Viktor can tell he’s getting impatient. “Um, [Vaccaj fifteen](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kptjEE4CCAg). I guess we can do that.”

“Perfect,” Viktor says with a smile, venturing a glance up into those gorgeous brown eyes. Yuuri meets his gaze and holds it, his stare questioning and subtly soft under the raw determination.  “Um, let’s—“ Viktor starts, but he’s cut short by the studio door slamming open.

“Way to fucking ghost me, asshole,” comes a familiar voice, although Viktor would never have imagined he’d hear it here, of all places.

Yuri Plisetsky is marching through the door, a very alarmed Yuuko at his heels.

“You owe me an audition program,” he orders. “You promised.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
>  _izakaya_ \- an informal Japanese pub  
>  ยาหยี - _yaa yǐi_ \- Thai for “darling” or “dear”; Phichit’s cuteified nickname for Yuuri  
>  _Je n’ai pas de regrets, et je n’ai qu’une envie: près de toi là, tout près, vivre toute ma vie que mon corps soit le tien, e ta lèvre la mienne, que ton Coeur soit le mien, et que toute ma chair soit tienne_ \- I have no regrets, and only one desire: near to you, close as can be, living all my life so that your body is mine, so that my lips are pressed by yours, so that your heart is mine, and that my body is pressed to yours.  
>  _Yuuri… Ce qui arrivait à Sochi? Que voulais-tu dire?_ \- Yuuri... what happened in Sochi? What did you mean?
> 
>  
> 
> If you like what you've read, I always appreciate kudos and comments! Hits let me know you're out there, Kudos let me know I have your attention, but Comments are the best way to show a writer your appreciation!
> 
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	7. Se vuol ballare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri is motivated, Viktor is inspired. Yurio's there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaand we're back again! Summer classes are over and I finally had the energy and time I needed to devote to my baby! (this au is my baby)
> 
> Not a lot of music in this chapter, but as always, the title is linked.

[Se vuol ballare](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3MdXqtQ1vJQ)

 

“Yuri!” Viktor booms, jumping up from the piano bench as if on springs.  “I’m surprised Yakov let you come; he gave me hell!”  Yuuri remembers how Viktor strode through the Svyatoya Cecilia Concert Hall, Yuri Plisetsky listening intently at his side.  These two have already worked together extensively under Yakov’s tutelage. He watches in stunned silence as his coach skips over to the younger Russian and pulls him into a tight hug. 

Yuri groans and gives Viktor a sharp shove.  Viktor laughs.

“Judging from that look, I’m guessing I forgot some promise I made,” he says, throwing a little wink back at Yuuri.  It makes his chest flutter and he hopes to God that isn’t the kind of thing young Yuri notices.  “I’m sorry Yuri, I totally forgot.  But you knew I was the forgetful type, right?” he says, shrugging it off with a dismissive laugh.  Russian Yuri is getting redder by the second, and Yuuri is certain Viktor is one sly remark away from getting smacked.

“Yeah,” the blonde growls through gritted teeth.  “I’m painfully aware of that.  But a promise is a promise!”  He steps forward then, grabbing Viktor’s wrist and tugging.  “Coach me through my audition program!” he demands.  “Let’s go back to Russia!”

Yuuri’s stomach drops.  _This is it,_ he thinks, studying the pensive expression on Viktor’s face, trying to glean some kind of understanding from it.  _This is the day he realizes he can do better.  This is the day he decides to leave._   He swallows hard, glancing over at Yuri’s face again.

The kid looks superbly satisfied with himself, perfect confidence in his odds evident in his fiery green eyes and little smirk.  Like there’s no questioning what Viktor’s answer will be.  _Except—_

“You’re totally underestimating me,” Yuuri blurts, staring down his Russian namesake determination of his own.  He has put in too much hard work in the past weeks to even dream of forfeiting it now.  He’s skipped too many bowls of katsudon, too many glasses of wine, too many dark chocolate Kit-Kats (his favorite) to just give Viktor up before they’ve even begun the real work. 

Viktor’s laughter in response is surprised, if not a little shocked.  Yuuri’s brain catches up with what he’s just said and he knows his cheeks have gone crimson as he fights to maintain a convincing staredown.  What Yuri has – this personal-professional relationship with Viktor – is everything he wants, and he’s willing to work hard enough to earn it and keep it.  He can’t let on that he’s in over his head.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Well isn’t this interesting?” Viktor muses, pressing a finger to the corner of his lips as he considers his options.  The air hangs still, both Yuris rapt with anticipation.  _This is a new feeling_ , he thinks, gazing back and forth at two amazing protégés.  The challenge in their opposing stances is tense and unrelenting and all too reminiscent of their drawn-out karaoke battle in Sochi.  He chuckles.  “Perhaps I’ll have you both sing ‘Killer Queen’ then, huh?” he jokes, meriting a painful kick in the shins from Yuri.  Yuuri, however, just smiles blankly, and Viktor wonders if mentioning that night has crossed a line. 

“Take this seriously, old man,” Yuri hisses.  “You promised.”

“Haha, okay, okay,” Viktor says.  “Tomorrow, I’ll develop a full, versatile competition program for each of you.  We’ll train through them as a group and individually.”

“What?!”  Yuri yells, while at the same time, Yuuri is stammering, “sing with _him?”_

Viktor smiles patiently.  “I was trying to figure out which theme to use for Yuuri anyway,” he explains.  “Now I can create two contrasting ones!”  He watches as both men grasp for some kind of protest, amused to see both of them coming up short.  Losing _Tosca_ is beginning to feel worth it.  “I’ll judge the programs in one week!  You two can audition against each other.  You know, compete to see who can surprise the judges more!”

“Viktor does whatever the winner says!”  Yuri nearly interrupts, jabbing a finger in Viktor’s face.  “If I win, you’ll come back to Russia!”  Viktor’s eyes grow wide.

“Oh! I love that kind of thing!  Two Yuris, two upstart countertenors… what fun!”

“So this is essentially the most exclusive summer program in the world, huh?” Yuuri deadpans.  “Glad I made it in.”  Viktor waves off the derisive jab with a dismissive flick of his hand; a move he’s gotten used to in dealing with the more combative side of his student’s nerves.  He has no worries for Yuuri, not after a few weeks of clear dedication and drive.

He is going to have way too much fun for this.  He knows it is going to require Minako’s help, along with a few more called-in favors, to make it happen, but as he returns to the piano bench he thinks he can start to see the pieces falling into place. 

 _An event_.  Something to put Yuuri’s name out there; something he can use to prove to Yakov this pursuit was worth his time.  And maybe to rub it in the old man’s face just a bit that Yuri followed him too.  It makes him feel a little more justified in leaving.

“We can produce it!”  cry three little voices in unison, and three boisterous little girls emerge from the hall outside.

“Girls, what did I tell you about-“ Yuuko starts, but Viktor waves his hand once more.

“No, no, that’s fine,” he laughs.  “That sounds perfect, actually, Yuu-chan.  You and your girls are some of the most knowledgeable people I know when it comes to this industry!”  He can see the woman go pink and realizes he might be slipping into his habit of laying on the flattery.  _Whoops._   “Uh, I mean…” he stammers.  “Of course, I’m going to need an accompanist,” he says.  “And some judges.”

“Vote for Yuuri!”

“Yuuri go-go!”

“Two Yuuris!”

“Two Yuuris!  Two Yuuris!  Two Yuuris!”

The triplets’ commotion continues down the hall as their mother corrals them away, admonishing them in sharp, rapid Japanese, leaving Viktor and Yuuri boneless with muffled laughter. 

“Oi.”  Yuri grunts.  And then, in Russian, “Come on, Viktor, everyone knows you’re just chasing ass.”

The words hit Viktor square in the chest and he burns, gripping the lid of the piano with white knuckles.

“As if it’s your business what I’m chasing,” he spits back in his native tongue, eyeing Yuuri cautiously, all too aware that last time he tried to conceal his words behind a language barrier Yuuri had met him with fluid understanding.

Thankfully, Yuuri does not appear to know Russian.

“Now before you try to say anymore about things you don’t understand,” he warns, then continues the sentence in English, “apologize to your host for using language to keep secrets.  It’s incredibly rude.”

Yuri grumbles out an apology and Viktor knows that’s as close as he’s going to get to genuine.  He decides to let the kid’s attitude go for now, smiling and letting the tension melt from his shoulders as he turns back to his lesson.

“[Vaccaj fifteen](https://youtu.be/Zk2hjsHaeqs?t=4m31s) then?” he asks, and Yuuri snaps back to attention, fumbling around in his backpack for his book.

 _“Alla stagion de’ fiori e de’ novelli amori è grato il mole fiato d’un zeffiro legger,”_ Yuuri sings, and Viktor can practically hear Yuri’s eyes blow wide in surprise as he hears the crisp, clear tones of Yuuri’s countertenor.  He’s sure his younger colleague will tear him a new one later for leaving him to wait, but he’s been so eager to run this lesson, and above all, he needs to make sure things are okay between him and Yuuri now that they’re both sober.  _“O gema fra le fronde o lento increspi l’onde: zeffiro in ogni lato compagno è del piacer.”_

He can hear the door slam behind him, and he has half a mind to jump back up from the piano and give Yuri a talking to about being a respectful guest, but he’s got a few notes for Yuuri that he must attend to before they leave his head.

“Do you hear how you’re sliding down instead of hitting your notes cleanly?” he asks.  Yuuri nods.

“It’s hard,” he replies.  And it would be, Viktor thinks, considering the technique Yuuri is using makes it hard.  He stands and crosses over to where the other man is standing.

“May I touch you?” He asks, as he has every lesson even though the answer has always been yes.  And just as expected, Yuuri nods seriously.  Viktor places one hand in the small of his back and the other low on his abdomen, splayed so his thumb points upward towards Yuuri’s solar plexus while his fingers press lightly in between his hip bones.  “Is this okay?” he asks.  Yuuri nods once more, and Viktor is endlessly grateful his student is so professional.  He makes it easy not to make this moment as intimate as it could be, especially after last night.  “This is where your support is centered, correct?  Breathe in for me.”

Yuuri sucks in a deep breath through his mouth and nostrils simultaneously: one that fills his lungs in an instant.  Viktor feels the muscles in his abdomen and lower back engage, and he smiles.

“Good,” he murmurs.  “Roll your shoulders for me?  Your neck?”  Yuuri complies, and when Viktor determines there is no excess pressure in the muscles around his larynx, he nods.  “Good.  Exhale.  Keep that pressure down by my fingers no matter what.  But your runs, you must articulate here,” he corrects, pressing his thumb gently just below Yuuri’s diaphragm.  “Here, you have control.  Here,” he says, patting just under Yuuri’s navel, “You have power.  Does that make sense?”  He takes a step back, examining Yuuri’s face.  He’s entirely zoned in as he raises his own hands to his stomach.

“I can do that,” he says, eyes sparkling.

They run through the short exercise again, but something is still off.

“You’re losing your support when you descend,” he ponders, trying to imagine what Yakov might say to him in this situation.  “Perhaps you need to visualize differently?” he suggests.  “Try imagining your melody line going upward, even as you descend.  That’s the kind of support you need to maintain.  Can we try that?”

They run through just a few bars where Yuuri has been struggling in particular until the half steps are a little less flat and there is a more definite distinction between individual notes.

The work is tedious, and Yuuri yawns in between runs.  Viktor knows he was excited to begin music today.  However, Yuri was a perfect excuse to delay having to hear this beautiful man sing that beautifully seductive piece.  They’ve kept things so professional until now.  And while Viktor knows he could just choose another piece, he can’t divorce himself from the idea that Yuuri needs to tap into the flirtatious energy that he’s seen more than once now, hidden somewhere beneath the surface and drawn out so beautifully when he drinks.  He can’t imagine Yuuri – especially countertenor Yuuri – not singing this piece.  He wants his student to be offered the role of Carmen one day.

“I hope you’ll forgive me for delaying your real music one more day, Yuuri,” he says finally, closing the piano lid and turning to straddle the bench.

“What… are we done?” Yuuri asks, puzzled.  “I thought you said…”

“I know, I know,” Viktor says, pushing his bangs back from his eyes as he tries to find a reasonable explanation.  “This Yuri think was all too unexpected.  I have to prepare an hour of music now instead of thirty minutes… I hope you’ll understand.” 

“Yeah… Yeah,” Yuuri says, although the droop in his shoulders tells Viktor all he needs to know.  He will not let this man get discouraged.  He’s seen too much of it already.  He stands and crosses to him once more until they’re facing one another, no more than two feet apart.  He places his hands on Yuuri’s shoulders and waits until he looks up.

Those eyes are like dark, delicious drops of honey.

“Yuri is all talk,” Viktor soothes, rubbing little circles over Yuuri’s shoulders with his thumbs.  “He hasn’t seen how much work you’ve put into this.  You said it yourself.  He’s totally underestimating you.”

He can feel the tension draining from Yuuri’s shoulders as he speaks, and he watches in awe as a relieved smile breaks across Yuuri’s face.  Of course, he has to know he stands a chance.  More than a chance.    His hands come up and rest on Viktor’s, the tips of his fingers brushing his wrists.

“Viktor,” he says, breaking eye contact to gaze down absently at the floor.  Viktor has to restrain himself from pressing his lips into that mess of black hair, so close, at just the right level.  “If I win this… I want to eat katsudon with you.”

Viktor almost chuckles, before he sees the blush creeping across Yuuri’s cheeks, the sheer determination in his eyes. 

“I want to keep singing with you.  I want to keep on competing, and keep on winning, and keep on eating katsudon.  That’s what I want.”  He looks up, just barely lifting his head, and Viktor struggles to draw his next breath, because in those eyes is a mixture of plea and promise and it’s breathtaking to see Yuuri want.  Just as it is when they work out, or the fifteenth time they’ve run through the same passage.  Yuuri’s eyes say, “bring it on!” and “help me get there” all at once, and Viktor is all too willing to oblige.

“Perfect. That’s just what I want, Yuuri,” he murmurs, and his heart races as he pulls Yuuri into a quick hug, not hot and intimate but warm and encouraging, and then it races even faster when Yuuri snakes his arms around Viktor’s back and squeezes.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_he said he wants to eat katsudon with me!! <<33_

**Кристоф:** Is that his kink?

_is2g…_

**Кристоф:** Maybe I was wrong.  You two might be compatible. I never thought you’d find someone as food-crazy as you.

 _god, Chris, it was like a proposal_  
_he looked into my eyes like…_  
_idek_  
_and then he hugged me and_  
_fuc_ k

 **Кристоф:** Sounds to me like he was hungry.

 _you’re right about him, hot and cold_  
_but you have your order off_  
_he doesn’t open and close, he closes and opens_  

 **Кристоф:** Semantics.

_I can wait.  I can be there when he opens up_

**Кристоф:** That’s your choice, Niki.

_Jesus, don’t sound so enthused, you’re overwhelming me  
why is this so hard for you to get behind?_

**Кристоф:** Because two nights ago you were certain he’s only into you when he’s drunk!

 **Кристоф:** Which, by the way, did you ask him?

 **Кристоф:** Your silence speaks volumes.

 **Кристоф:** Please stop torturing yourself and just talk to him like an adult.

 _Ok_  
_I love you, Chris_  
_tx for looking out for me._

 **Кристоф:** I love you too, Niki.

 **Кристоф:** What are friends for? ;)

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Yuuri’s family is ecstatic to have another one of his “friends from school” visiting, and Yuuri has to watch while Viktor and Yuri share three bowls of katsudon between the two of them as he pokes at his spinach salad and chicken breast.

(It _is_ tasty, though.)

It didn’t even occur to Yuuri that Yuri would be staying at the inn, but of _course_ he is.  The kid hovers around Viktor like Yuuri used to around Mari.  It’s clear they’ve been working together for a long time.  Viktor keeps Yuri’s manners in check with little swats and elbows and, occasionally quick streams of sharp Russian accompanied by eyes that flash dangerously.

But ultimately, no matter what young Yuri manages to pull, he’s soon got Viktor laughing and joking, their heavily-accented English too fast for Yuuri to keep up.  Yuuri starts to retreat into his own space, nothing but a body and a spinach salad, until he realizes, belatedly, that Mari has joined them and is staring, bewildered, at yet another European guest who appears to be here for her brother.  She shoots Yuuri a quizzical glance and he responds with little more than a hopeless gulp.

“His name is also Yuri,” Mom is saying, buzzing with excitement at having another guest – not just of the inn, but of her family. 

Mari studies Yuri with mock scrutiny for a moment.  She always knows how to lighten the mood of a situation – or rather, how to lighten _Yuuri’s_ mood in a situation.  He finds a little bit of the tension in his chest melting away as he watches her greet the younger singer with a little smirk.

“Two Yuuri’s is too confusing,” she says.  “I’ll call you Yurio!”

 “What?!” Yuri roars, although his outrage doesn’t slow the pace at which he’s shoveling katsudon into his mouth, and Yuuri can’t help but find him a little endearing.

It was nice to see Viktor like this, with a spot at the dining room table, relaxed and surrounded by Yuuri’s family, and he realizes it’s pretty nice to see other competitors in this light, too.  _Yurio_ is absolutely blushing as he processes his new cute nickname.

Viktor laughs so hard he snorts, practically falling into Yuuri’s lap as he fights for a breath. 

“And where will Yurio stay?” Mari asks, fighting back a snicker, and shooting a pointed stare in Yuuri’s direction.  “What?  In the storage room?  Looks like Yuuri and I have to clean it up!  Come help, little brother!”

Before Yuuri can protest, she has him by the collar and is all but dragging him out into the hall.  “We have some gossiping to do,” she says excitedly under her breath as he wriggles out of her grasp.  “Come on!”

Yuuri turns to follow, but Viktor’s booming laugh catches his attention, and he peers around the door frame back into the dining room.

“Yurio!” he chortles, ruffling his colleague’s long, blonde hair and ignoring his shouts of “That’s not my name!”

Yuuri’s heart leaps into his throat.  It took an entire bottle of wine for him to be that comfortable around Viktor.

It’s not like he’s jealous of a _kid_.  Yes, Yuri Plisetsky already has an established relationship with Viktor.  He’s been on Yuuri’s radar for a few years now because of his status in Yakov’s studio.  _How long have he and Viktor been studying together?_

In any case, it’s clear that Yuri has much more potential than he does.  He’s confident, so sure that he will win against Yuuri in competition fresh out of his first year of college.  Above all, he’s comfortable in front of Viktor.  Comparatively, he is so much more…

_But he’s the only one Yuuri has to beat._

He doesn’t even stop to tell Mari he’s leaving.  He grabs his bag and his water and runs the entire way back to the studio.  His lungs don’t burn anymore as he fumbles with his key, the way they did two weeks ago.

 _He can do this._   He’ll have to work for it, but he’s never wanted to work for anything in his life more than this.  Viktor gave him his vote of confidence, whatever it’s worth.  Yuuri has got to prove him right.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 **KatsudonYuuri:**  
[image.jpg]

 **PeachY:**  
W H A T **  
** wtf am I seeing

 **KatsudonYuuri:**  
Honestly, I wish I knew  
All I know is I’m the only one not allowed to eat katsudon and I’m dying.

 **PeachY:**  
what’s that kid’s name again

 **KatsudonYuuri:**  
Yuri Plisetsky.  
I thought things were done getting weird

 **PeachY:**  
Viktor Nikiforov moved in with you and you thought things were done getting weird?!

 **KatsudonYuuri:**  
Oh my god you’re right.  
This is my life now.  
He’s making us compete to be his student...

 **PeachY:**  
he’s wHAT  
baby no  
I knew it, that’s some self-indulgent, narcissistic shit  
shut it down

 **KatsudonYuuri:**  
No, it wasn’t his idea.  
He didn’t even come up with the terms, Yuri did.

 **PeachY:**  
um

  
**KatsudonYuuri:**  
Besides, I think I have a chance.

 **PeachY:**  
ok  
I am going to be as supportive as I can here

 **KatsudonYuuri:**  
Peach.

 **PeachY:**  
I just think you might be taking this a little more seriously than he is  
and I don’t want you to get hurt  
because I WILL break all my fingers punching white boy’s face in and lose my career as a pianist forever.

 **KatsudonYuuri:**  
I might get hurt.  
But I also might win.  
And if I win, he’s going to stay with me.

 **PeachY:**  
omg

 **KatsudonYuuri:**  
So all I have to do is win.

 **PeachY:**  
omg you like him

 **KatsudonYuuri:**  
Oops, my phone is dying.

 **PeachY:**  
LIAR

 **KatsudonYuuri:**  
Bye

 **PeachY:**  
COME BACK HERE  
YUURI YOU LIKE HIM

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Viktor is exhausted.  It would figure that his day would be thrown off the rails like this.  Once Yuri – _Yurio,_ he loves that nickname and how much it infuriates the kid – succumbs to jet lag and retreats to his room, Viktor decides to check in with Yuuri and make sure things are okay.  He never came back to finish his dinner.

And Viktor is hoping just maybe they can sit and chat in the onsen for a while, his conversation with Chris still fresh in his mind.

He’ll be admonished by some Katsuki for clearing dishes from the table when he’s their _guest_ , for heaven’s sake, but all the same he brings the barely-touched chicken salad back to the kitchen where Yuuri and Mari are generally doing the washing up at this time of night.  Except—

“Huh?  Where’s Yuuri?” he asks dumbly before Mari can mention his breach of etiquette.  She leans back against the counter, unlit cigarette dangling from her lips, and gives him a curious once-over.  Viktor wonders how pitifully obvious he is, whether she’s on to him by now.  He likes to think he can play it cool, but the past twenty-four hours has left him unable to even think straight, let alone put up a façade.  He worries, should Mari ask him anything, that he’ll spill his guts right there on the spot.

Instead of asking questions, Mari lights her cigarette and gestures with it toward the kitchen door.

“He left a while ago,” she sighs through a cloud of smoke.  “At a time like this, he’d be at Minako-san’s place or PianoPiano.  He’s always like this,” she adds, turning back to her work.

He’s out of there so fast that if Mari were to turn around, she’d likely find a Viktor Nikiforov-shaped cloud of dust where he’d been standing only a moment before.  He’s on his bike and on his way to Minako’s bar before he can even process what he’s doing.

_“I want to keep singing with you.  I want to keep on competing, and keep on winning, and keep on eating katsudon.  That’s what I want.”_

It’s got to be tonight.  He has got to ask Yuuri about Sochi, about last night.  There can’t be secrets between them anymore.  He wants to know for certain what this relationship is that they’ve built, and whether or not he can get his hopes up for something more.  Because if not, he’s happy to put those feelings aside and be the best coach he can be, if it means making Yuuri happy.  But he’s not willing to  give up until he knows for sure.

When he reaches the bar, Minako gives him a scouring glare before softening and pouring him a drink.  When he tries to decline, insistent that he’s just trying to find his student, she laughs and shoves the glass into his hands.

“On the house, Vicchan,” she says, gesturing with a flourish towards a stool.  Viktor sits and sips his beer modestly – it never was his beverage of choice – and Minako boops his nose with the tip of her finger.  It smells like liquor and dish sanitizer.

“Mari said Yuuri might be at your place,” he mumbles into the edge of his glass, entirely too aware of how young he really is when Mama’s old friend and rival is pouring him a drink.  “I realize now she must have meant the studio.”

To his relief, Minako’s laugh does not seem to carry the same reproach that it did his first night in Hasetsu – he’s been pretty good about avoiding her since then.

“Yes, you’d be correct,” she says without looking up from polishing the glassware.  “Whenever Yuuri gets anxious, he always wants to practice.  I usually go along with him.  The Nishigoris let him practice anytime if they’re not booked already.”  She smiles fondly, in a way that Viktor has never quite seen coming from Minako Okukawa.  It strikes him that it doesn’t seem unusual at all – in fact, she’s got the same pride in her eyes that everyone around here has when they talk about Yuuri.  The same that Viktor feels whenever he watches him sing.

“Yuuri was able to grow because he had a place where he could practice alone whenever he got anxious,” Minako explains.  “He’s no genius, but he was gifted with more practice time than anyone else.”

“I think he’s a genius,” Viktor blurts, and then it’s too late to take it back, too late to avoid the smirk that spreads across Minako’s hot pink lips.

“I can tell you admire him,” she grins.  “You seem to inspire him too.  He’s been talking about you since the first time I took him to Tokyo.”  She reaches across the bar and pats him on the arm.  “Don’t you let him give up, Vicchan.  I don’t want this to be the end.  You might be the best thing that’s ever happened to him,” she says, and as far as Viktor can tell, she’s serious.

“That would mean it’s mutual,” he admits, pushing his empty glass across the bar.  “Thanks, Minako.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
>  _Alla stagion de’ fiori e de’ novelli amori è grato il mole fiato d’un zeffiro legger"_ \- In the season of flowers and new loves, the soft wind is grateful to encounter a sprightly zephyr.  
>  _O gema fra le fronde o lento increspi l’onde: zeffiro in ogni lato compagno è del piacer._ \- Whether he moans 'neath the bushes, or slowly ripples the waves, Zephyrus is in all places the faithful companion of Pleasure."
> 
>  
> 
> It's important to note that teaching singing is a very hands-on process and there are many techniques that are most easily taught through tactile cues like Viktor does for Yuuri in this chapter. However, your voice teacher should always ask your permission before they put their hands on you, even if it's their hundredth time doing it. If your teacher does not, do not be afraid to ask them to. Your body is your instrument and just because someone is showing you how to use it does not mean they have any right to it. A good voice teacher will always respect physical and emotional boundaries with their students.
> 
>  
> 
> If you like what you've read, I always appreciate kudos and comments! Hits let me know you're out there, Kudos let me know I have your attention, but Comments are the best way to show a writer your appreciation!
> 
> For nightly fic chapters and lots of reblogged YoI content, check out [my tumblr](http://kingfisherunion.tumblr.com)


	8. Una voce poco fa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri and Yurio receive their audition programs. Viktor gets motivational.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had no linked songs last chapter so here, have ALL the linked songs! Seriously, there are like 15 linked songs this time around, and they're all beautiful so take the time and give them a listen, if you like!
> 
> I made [a playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLtbq_d8EHRM8krYrUnrU6oaYklAlr5VIq) of Yuuri and Yurio's program pieces on YouTube, so check that out if you'd like!!

[Una voce poco fa](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OL_MX7fOlFc)

 

Yuuri and Yurio wake up to no obnoxious grins, no savage threats veiled behind a chipper demeanor, no Viktor anywhere in sight.  Where Yuuri normally finds Viktor waiting for him, silver hair lit by the earliest rays of sunlight, the two singers instead find a note scrawled on a piece of lined paper, embellished with music notes and hearts and badly-drawn stick figures lifting weights.

“Ladders as warmups— _fucking asshole, why does he love ladders so much?—_ with jumping jacks on one side and pushups on the other,” Yurio reads blearily, rubbing his eyes with his free hand as he does.  Yuuri groans.  “4 sets each: high-five planks, squat-and-twists, push-togethers, overhead pass…” rage blossoms in the teen’s face as he scans the note.  “These are partner exercises!  Fuck no.”

The sound of the paper crinkling into a ball grates through Yuuri, who winces as he catches it midair, fussing and tutting as he straightens it out.  “Come on, Yurio, they’re not that bad—Viktor and I have been doing these for days—“

“I _know_ they’re not that bad, pig, I’ve done them with Viktor too,” he snaps. “I’m just not doing them with _you_ , okay?”  He goes to turn away, making as if to spin on his heel before he falters, hands clenched at his sides.  “And my name’s not _Yurio_ ,” he growls. 

“Well my name’s not _pig_ ,” Yuuri yawns, entirely too sleepy to care whether he's exercising alone or not.  “I’m gonna start, because I’m hungry, and you should join me if you think Viktor’s going to work with you first. Yurio.” 

Somewhere between seeing Yuri’s face as he worked on his Vaccaj and watching from the hall as the two Russian singers flaunted their tremendous rapport in the dining room the previous night, Yuuri has developed a bit of a competitive edge.  He doesn’t dislike Yurio.  He doesn’t even resent him, really.  He simply wants to beat him, and while he isn’t entirely confident in his own ability, he knows he has the work ethic to make up for it.    

Grumbling under his breath about jet lag and suckups, Yurio snatches the paper out of his hands and shoves past him into the driveway.  Yuuri smiles.  The other countertenor makes it easy to be competitive, at least.  He only hopes he can salvage that note from Viktor later (if only to admire the silly little doodles and scribbled-out hearts all around the margins) without Yurio noticing.

Despite their rough start, working out with Yurio isn’t entirely unpleasant.  In fact, the two get into a pretty manageable rhythm together, finishing their warmup at exactly the same time and spotting one another on each of the core exercises.  By the time they're done, the sun is hot, the air is hazy and balmy around them, and they are both starving.

When they are all showered and fed their backpacks stuffed full of scores and waters, the countertenors start their run to Hasetsu PianoPiano to finally— _finally_ —receive their assignments from Viktor.  Yuuri hardly notices his younger counterpart puffing along beside him—his head is reeling with hopeful ideas involving Handel and Mozart, with roles like Admeto and Orfeo, sweet and beautiful and full of unrequited love.  He’s been researching countertenor rep beyond the contents of the anthologies and scores on Viktor’s list, and he is ready to flaunt his sweeter side, hopeful that becoming lovely will make him more so in Viktor’s eyes.

“He makes you run with _books?_ ” Yurio huffs when they make it to the door of the studio, the faintest shimmer of sweat hinting across his brow.  Yuuri flashes an innocent smile as he holds the door open.

The sound of singing drifts out from the back of the shop as the singers catch their breath.  Soundproofed rooms and all, Viktor’s voice cuts through the air, clear and strong and absolutely beautiful, and Yuuri can’t help but idle in half-conscious awe as he listens.  He knows the piece.  _God_ , he knows the piece—[Ecco, ridente in cielo](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SIfz8fNQw0U) captures everything he’s ever felt about Viktor: a secret yearning, anonymous in nature but hopeful, still, that one day he’ll be recognized, not exactly concealed but certainly not overt.  He’s too shy to make any direct advances, but too drunk on his own feelings to do anything but put them out in the open.  So what does he do?  He channels them into song; sings _for_ Viktor, but underneath, he sings _to_ him.  If Viktor only knew just how deeply Yuuri feels this cavatina.

Not a single note is out of place, as always.  Viktor puts such extravagant embellishments on his cadenza that it makes Yuuri dizzy just thinking about singing them.  How he’s not out of breath by his final note, Yuuri has no idea, but it isn’t until then that he realizes he’s been standing rapt, mouth hanging open, hanging on every phrase.  He’s brought back to the present by Yurio’s unamused snort.

“That was supposed to be one of his audition pieces this year,” the teen mused, digging a water bottle from his bag and emptying it in two gulps, the plastic collapsing inward on itself as he pulls from it.  Viktor continues on to another piece as the two start back towards the studio, and neither of them seems quite ready to interrupt his music when they reach the door, opting to wordlessly hover just outside until he finishes. 

“He had a lot of trouble picking pieces this year,” Yurio adds sotto-voce, collapsing back against the wall as he waits.  “Surprising the judges has always been his top priority.  For a while he had everyone in the palm of his hand.  But now, no matter what he does, no one’s surprised anymore.”

[The aria Viktor’s singing now](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cLuEDT_ZPEo) is a dramatic shift from his previous vocal acrobatics, this one much more sanguine and rambling compared to the upbeat yet tuneful cavatina before it.  Yuuri catches hints of German Romanticism before he even picks up on the language itself.  The shift in tone is dramatic yet both sit so well in Viktor’s voice that it seems natural.  Yuuri would be content to sit and listen to it all morning, but the anticipation is eating away at his chest.  He wants to see the audition program that Viktor made especially for him.  The moment Yuuko plays the last note of the piece, he knocks and lets himself in.

Viktor’s face lights up as his two students enter the studio.  “Good morning!  Did you sleep well on your first night, Yurio?”

“I’m not Yurio!” the irate teen growls, throwing his bag down and sinking into a chair against the soundproofed wall. 

Yuuri catches Viktor’s eye and shoots him a little half-smile.  Viktor winks but doesn’t say anything, and Yuuri would be lying if he said that doesn’t worry him.  This is the first day they’re really, _really_ going to start working together.  Whether or not Yuuri even returns to the performing world rides on this.  He doesn’t detect an ounce of nerves from Yurio.  In fact, the teen seems calm, even _bored_ , waiting to receive his assignments from Viktor.  From his friend, Viktor. 

No, Yuuri can’t wimp out here.  He can’t lose this “Battle of the Countertenors” match.  He’s going to win, and he’s going to use that win to study under Viktor and win more competitions.  Win more roles.  He’s going to be a singer, damn it, if he has to run himself into the ground to do it.

“Okay, so we’re going to take our first hour and listen to a few pieces,” Viktor says, setting up his phone with a little speaker on top of the piano.  “This first one can be played one of two ways, each way changing its meaning dramatically.  So naturally, I’m going to have you both sing it!”  He beams as if he’s just delivered the best news on Earth, and Yuuri's insides turn to stone.

“The same piece as _him?”_ he cries, just as Yurio bellows the same. Viktor’s laugh is so casual and yet so, so evil.

“If it ends up being the same, none of us will have done our jobs, don’t you think?” he asks with a sly, stupid, shit-eating grin.  A _beautiful_ , stupid, shit-eating grin, sure, but all the same.  Yuuri’s devotion might have its limits after all.

Viktor presses play, and it takes all of three notes for Yurio to start groaning.

 _[“Voi che sapete](https://youtu.be/mDeFdGzthV0),”_ Viktor informs them over a barrage of complaints in Russian, “is a teenage boy’s plea to the women he lives with to teach him about love.  _Cherubino_ is, how do they say it in English? Girl-crazy.”

“This isn’t me,” Yurio begins to protest, but Viktor holds up a finger to silence him.

“He can be played seriously–young and naïve and plagued by the complexities of courtly love, or as Mozart probably intended, he can be played more tongue-in-cheek–someone who already knows what he’s talking about, being coy with the ladies.”

Yuuri’s whispered _ohmygod_ is completely drowned out by Yurio’s roaring laughter.

“Shit, good luck playing it straight, piggy, that sounds hilarious!  Nevermind, I’m in!” he nearly cries, but the mirth drains from his face leaving nothing but mortified indignation as Viktor explains exactly _who_ will be playing _what_.

“People are going to be expecting a little bit of attitude from you, Yurio,” Viktor hums dismissively.  “It will be way more surprising to see you pull off an innocent vibe, don’t you think?  And Yuuri,” he says, his demeanor almost predatory.  “You’ll have to give it some rakish charm to make this work, but I think the outcome will be priceless.”

 _Priceless_.  Right.  Yuuri swallows down all the objections bubbling up from his now-churning stomach. 

Thankfully, they don’t have any more pieces in common.  Viktor plays each piece, alternating between singers as he goes, until each of them has seven to learn.  Yuuri feverishly scribbles each one in a little table he’s drawn up in his notebook as he listens, jotting down bits of Viktor’s explanations as he goes.

Yuuri

| 

Yurio  
  
---|---  
  
·      [Voi che sapete](https://youtu.be/mDeFdGzthV0)

·      [Se tu m’ami](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=THTUCtExVbo)

·      [Ouvre ton cœur](https://youtu.be/Z3lJcpS0CRI)

·      [Je t’implore et je tremble](https://youtu.be/EeNDSp98cpg)

·      [Il mio bel foco…Quella fiamma](https://youtu.be/NfmR13ABxKg)

·      [Vedrò con mio diletto](https://youtu.be/BPGc4Hyd-DM)

·      [Cara sposa](https://youtu.be/4vuwI6IfXYo)

| 

·        [Voi che sapete](https://youtu.be/mDeFdGzthV0)

·        [Ombra mai fu](https://youtu.be/N7XH-58eB8c)

·        [Che farò senza Euridice?](https://youtu.be/TJSOUwIH7kA)

·        [Lascia ch’io pianga](https://youtu.be/wseOj1unXco)

·        [Dormi o fulmine di Guerra](https://youtu.be/mbf4Eu2RcW4)

·        [ Agnus dei](https://youtu.be/n5Ea4j-Si3M)

·        [Must the winter come so soon?](https://youtu.be/Qa4N9Xe_Nx0)  
  
 

“This blows,” Yurio whines as the last notes of “[Must the winter come so soon?](https://youtu.be/Qa4N9Xe_Nx0)” drift through the studio in a beautiful and haunting legato, “you gave him all the interesting ones!”

“Wrong!” Viktor retorts, a finger brandished and ready to correct any complaints that come his way.  His eyes are alight with inspiration as he delineates his thought process for them, glinting in a way Yuuri has rarely seen outside of Hasetsu. “I created your programs under parallel and yet contrasting themes.  Yuuri, yours is On Love: Eros.  Yurio, On Love: Agape.  Both are about love, but Eros concerns itself with passionate love – mature, physical, _sexual_ – while Yurio, you will be focusing more on compassionate, unconditional love with your theme of Agape.”  He looks utterly pleased with himself as his eyes dart back and forth between his two singers, as if the only thing left is for them to shower him with praise.

But Yuuri is far from excited.  In fact, Yuuri is terrified.  He’s no child, and he’s not exactly _clueless_ when it comes to… to _that sort of thing_ , but he's not sure if there is any scenario in which he can convincingly pull off such a sultry, seductive image.  He’s pretty sure no one has ever thought of him that way in his life.  He’s not about to announce something to that effect here in front of Yurio, but…

“Switch them!” Yurio demands, jumping to his feet.  “This shit isn’t me at all!  This innocence crap makes me want to barf!”  His fists are trembling, clenched at his sides, and he really looks like he would take a swing at Viktor if it came down to it.  “You said you were going to find me _cool_ music – you gave all the good pieces to Katsuki!”

Viktor frowns and Yurio turns to grab his bag.  “I’m surprised you think you can choose your own image,” he ponders, and his words freeze the blonde dead in his tracks.  “Both of you.”

The look of surprise on Yuuri’s face comes too soon for him to conceal it.  “Um.  Me too?  Viktor?” he asks innocently, because it’s not like _he_  complained, even if he isn’t thrilled with the idea of trying to dig up some semblance of sex appeal in the next week. 

“Both of you,” Viktor repeats.  “From the judges’ perspective, you’re nothing but a piglet and a kitten.  If you aren’t up to my standards by next week, I won’t coach either of your programs.”

 _Oh God he’s serious.  He doesn’t even look amused._ Yuuri can feel the sweat dripping down the back of his neck, amplified by the cool, air-conditioned studio, and the sensation mixed with Viktor’s stony expression sends a shiver down his spine.

“Fine,” Yurio spits.  “I’ll do it.  I’ll sing Agape.  Then you can do us all a favor and come back to Russia.”

“Good!” Viktor beams.  “Yuuri?”

If Yurio is doing it, there’s no way he can back down now.  He knows this.  The fight for Eros might be one he’s destined to lose, but his honor—no—his chance with Viktor rests on his willingness to stand and fight all the same. 

Besides, he can’t help but bask in the amazing, horrible, exciting, horrifying idea that _Viktor_ chose _him_ to sing _Eros_.  Viktor wants to see his passionate side.  Sure, it’s all “artistic vision” or “Operation Castability” or whatever but hell, he’ll sex it up for Viktor if that’s what’s going to get them studio time together. Okay, not like… he’s not going to… just on stage.  Right?  This is all just about _singing_ , and _God the Russians are staring at him, he’s got to respond…_

“I… I’ll do it.  I’ll sing Eros,” he says, and he feels the heat rise in his cheeks just as that little bit of excitement at the prospect of working out _this particular program_ with Viktor flashes in his mind.  “Viktor, I’ll give it all the Eros I’ve got!” 

Viktor’s eyes shine.  “Perfect,” he purrs.  “That’s exactly what I like.”  The subtle satisfaction in his voice is scintillating, and Yuuri’s breath catches in his chest as he tries to read the signals in that icy gaze.  He wouldn’t… in front of Yurio?  Or would he?

 

* * *

 

 

 **PeachY:**  
LOVE!  
EROS!  
MATURE!  
SEXUAL!  
PASSIONATE!  
PHYSICAL!  
TONGUE IN CHEEK!  
THESE ARE ALL WORDS I PULLED FROM YOUR NOTES.  
KATSUKI YUURI GO NAKED THAT BOY RIGHT NOW.

 **KatsudonYuuri:**  
Well, Yuri is here now, so I can’t really do that, can I?  
And also just because he wants me to build this persona doesn’t mean that’s how he thinks of me.  
Maybe he wants me to work on Eros because it’s a trait I *lack* and need to put extra focus on?

 **PeachY:**  
Maybe he wants you to work on Eros because he failed his One Thousand Other Attempts to get you to notice him sexually.

 **KatsudonYuuri:**  
I notice him sexually!!  
Omg wait

 **PeachY:**  
YOU…!!!

 **KatsudonYuuri:**  
Peach please  
Please don’t make me acknowledge that I just said that

 **PeachY:**  
Except you totally did just say that!!  
And let’s see how many people are surprised...?  
[thehillsarealive.gif]

  
**KatsudonYuuri:**  
Gah you make me so mad of course I do.  
Look at him, he’s beautiful.  
And his voice melts people’s pants off their bodies.  
And he could have literally anyone he wanted.  
Anyone.

 **PeachY:**  
Are you done drooling?  Pick your jaw up off the floor, baby, that’s what makes you soooooo special  
Also what makes him so smart; he’s only got eyes for the sweetest, most beautiful, most talented idiot in the world  <3

 **KatsudonYuuri:**  
You don’t know that.

 **PeachY:**  
I don’t *not* know that  
And so far, all the evidence points to it being true.

 **KatsudonYuuri:**  
You keep saying that but I just don’t see it.  
He’s just… like that, he’s.  Viktor Nikiforov.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Viktor is stalling.

“Yuuri, several of your pieces are going to need ornamentations,” he mumbles, sitting down at the piano, partially because they’re already drastically behind schedule and partially to hide his embarrassment at that brainless response to “all the Eros I’ve got.”

_“That’s exactly what I like”??  What is that even supposed to mean?_

In truth, Viktor is way too shaken to even think about working with Yuuri right now, and at the same time, way too eager to start working with him, and that mess of contradictions has him feeling overwhelmed and exhausted before they’ve even begun.

“This hasn’t been your strongest area in the past, from what I’ve seen,” he says, taking a swig of water to alleviate the lump that’s starting to form in his throat, “so I’d like you to take some time with Minako and work out the basics.  I’ll work with Yurio first.”

It doesn’t sound great, he realizes as the words are leaving his mouth, and sure enough, Yuuri seems to deflate at the suggestion.  _Shit_.

“I’m not letting you go into a competition under-prepared.  How many times have you had to stumble your way through a _da capo?”_ He urges, counting out the top stack of photocopied music and holding it out.  He can feel himself digging deeper into Discouraging-Rather-Than-Motivating territory, but if their past two weeks of diet and exercise has been any indication, Yuuri will only take it to heart for as long as it takes him to find a way to overcome it.  Two birds, one stone.  Yuuri will figure out just what he needs to do and do it, and in the meantime Viktor can find a way to get over this weird, breathless infatuation that’s been plaguing him the past few days and actually teach like a professional for once.

He will not let his feelings get in the way of Yuuri’s success.

Yuuri ducks his head, his expression stony and tense, and lets out his breath in one long, shaky sigh.  “I don’t have a lot of confidence,” he admits, wringing his hands in front of him.  “Ornamentations are so flashy—I guess it’s hard for me to trust in myself to sing them.”

Viktor’s heart shatters.  Now he’s done it, he thinks, Chris isn’t even going to get the chance to murder him because he’ll beat him to the punch.  The shame in Yuuri’s face looks so _genuine_ —it’s clear he believes fully in his shortcomings, and Viktor, the sodding idiot that he is, brought them to light so bluntly right here in front of someone he knows Yuuri views as competition—not only for this upcoming event but professionally as well.

He may as well have called Yuuri a failure to his face.

To make matters worse, the entire exchange has Yurio breaking into the most repulsive, self-satisfied sneer Viktor has ever seen.  He feels horrible, and part of him wishes he would have followed his gut and shipped Yurio right back off to Yakov, but he’s got to admit that working with Yuuri has sparked a newfound passion for teaching within him—where he used to dread his assistant hours under Yakov, running chorus sectionals and coaching freshmen, doing this on his own, he feels refreshed and excited to work.  Besides, he’s pretty sure he really did promise to help Yurio out, and forgetful as he may be, he’d never intentionally back out on a promise.

But he has watched Yuuri’s newfound confidence start to falter ever since the young countertenor joined their ranks, and he can’t help but feel a little bit responsible for that.

He’s going to have to make reparations.

He’s going to have to make up for it and then some.

He’s going to have to remind Yuuri, in the only way he knows how, that he holds him in the highest esteem.

…and get back at Yurio just a little bit in the process.

He turns around on the piano bench so he’s facing Yuuri fully, their knees slotting together in the space between them, and extends a cautious hand to lift Yuuri’s chin.

“May I?” He asks, conscious he’s let his voice drop a whole register into dangerously sultry territory, conscious that he’s a ball of contradictions today, ping-ponging between strictly professional and unable to hold himself together, conscious that Yuuri is fully accepting of his touch, actually _leaning_ into his hand a little bit as Viktor lifts his chin. 

He almost forgets what he was planning on doing when their eyes meet.  He’ll never tire of that beautiful, rich, velvety brown, never stopped being amazed by the flecks of gold that make them shine.  Yuuri’s eyes are too easy for Viktor to lose himself in, and for a moment he does, imagining how nice it would be to simply be able to drift away into the comfort of Yuuri’s gaze; those eyes meet his and it’s almost like, for once, Yuuri is letting him in.

There is all too much of Yuuri to be distracted by, and lesson time is ticking by, and Viktor _needs_ to get a move on, get him out of here so he can think of anything other than plush, velvety lips that are just a little chapped from being bitten when Yuuri’s nervous, or the unfair way they’re parted just so, like he’s surprised by Viktor’s touch.

_Right. Um._

Unable to help himself, he draws his thumb gently over those soft lips that say such beautiful things in French, hoping that the gesture adds to the desired effect of his words.

“My job is to make you feel confident in yourself,” he purrs, taking advantage of that extra inch of space between them and leaning in closer, until they’re practically nose to nose, indulging in the little gasp it elicits.  He pauses to make sure he’s not overstepping any boundaries, but Yuuri is making no attempt to move, away or otherwise.  Everything is breathless and shimmering dark eyes, and Viktor is already so high on this moment, able to smell the toothpaste on Yuuri’s breath, and a hint of shampoo, and something so distinctly Yuuri, it goes right to his head. 

“No one in the whole wide world knows your true eros, Yuuri,” he whispers.  “It may be an alluring side of you that you yourself are not even aware of.”  He draws his thumb up along Yuuri’s cheek.  “Can you show me what it is soon?”

It works so well.  The bright red that’s already bloomed in a furious blush across Yuuri’s cheeks is quickly spreading, but he’s not hiding, hell, Viktor isn’t sure he’s blinked once since their eyes met.  He’d feel guilty if there were even an inkling of dishonesty in his words, or his intentions, or his mannerisms, but this is way more than trying to convince his student that he’s worth a little bit of self-esteem.  There’s nothing truer to him at this moment than getting lost in Yuuri’s eyes, stealing his breath, and asking to see the eros he _knows_ Yuuri is capable of.

Yurio’s tennis shoe brings him painfully back to reality.

“Fucking gross, come on, you said you’re teaching me first,” he whines, and even though his shin now stings where he’s been kicked, Viktor gets a little pang of satisfaction knowing he annoyed his younger compatriot.

“Oh right,” he hums, sitting up suddenly.  “You’re right.  So, Yuuri, go and think long and hard about what eros means to you,” he concludes, and his heart drums almost audibly against his chest when Yuuri nods, face screwed up with determination.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 **Кристоф:** Has anyone told you that you are so, so very transparent?

 _shut up_  
how else was I supposed to boost his confidence after dragging him?  
and god knows Yuri needs this  
he burns too brightly  
that intensity isn’t sustainable

 **Кристоф:** Ah, but you’re avoiding the most important part…

_I’m not avoiding anything  
I’m just not giving you what you want_

**Кристоф:** I know, Niki, and it’s breaking my heart! ☹

_…it was intoxicating and amazing etc etc  
there_

**Кристоф:** I didn’t think Mr. Professional Coach had it in him to use such a hands-on approach  
**Кристоф:** I might like this new side of you!  Help me out with my program sometime too?

 _Stfu Chris_  
you know I wouldn’t do that for anyone else  
I just… he looked so beat down because of what I said  
and then he still opened up  
it was so surprising

 **Кристоф:** Look at you, Niki  
**Кристоф:** A few weeks of getting domestic with a genuine snack and you are head over heels  
**Кристоф:** Admit it!!

_Fuck I admit it_

**Кристоф:** And you’re only making it harder on yourself by giving him that program.

_I know._

**Кристоф:** How much longer until you can get him drunk again?

 _It sounds horrible when you say it that way_  
but not for another week  
we pushed back our next cheat day for the competition

 **Кристоф:** Okay, so tell him how you feel before then and when the day comes you two can _really_ get domestic with a bottle of bubbly and a couple of roses…? Need I say more?

_I’ll get right on that._

**Кристоф:** Whoops!  You only use punctuation when you’re annoyed with me!  
**Кристоф:** Salut, mon pétit chou, please get laid!

_Salut._

* * *

 

 

“Huh?  You have to do extra sessions with Minako because you didn’t get what eros is?” Takeshi says, tapping out octaves on the grand piano out in the front of the shop.  A moment later, he’s reaching down into the body of the instrument and fiddling with the pegs, continuing to bang on the keys with his other hand.

“Yeah,” Yuuri hums, sipping his tea as the photocopier behind the desk spits out triplicate reproductions of his pieces for the rehearsal binders he plans to make for Yuuko, Minako, and Phichit. 

“You should have just made it up.  He can’t have thought that hard about it,” Takeshi says, testing the same note once more, and Yuuri’s stomach lurches.

 _He can’t have thought that hard about it_.

Yuuri wants to sink into the floor.  He can’t stop thinking about how easily Viktor had him boneless and brainless with one little touch on the chin.  How stupid willing he was to do anything Viktor said.  He thinks he might be sick.

“Viktor’s a genius, he can get away with that stuff,” he mumbles, collating his stack of copies.  Viktor literally came here on a whim, for fun.  Yuuri could see no reason why his struggling career should take precedence over the exciting and prestigious opportunities Viktor is rumored to have been offered.  No wonder he gave no thought to accepting Yurio into their ranks.  This isn’t something he’s putting much thought into.

 _This isn’t that important to Viktor_.

“I get the theme though,” he croaks, dealing out pages like playing cards into three piles in front of him.  “There’s a character—or _characters—_ that come through when you put the pieces together. A playboy who goes from town to town and bewitches the women left and right. The most beautiful woman in town, the object of his desire who refuses to fall for his charms. They play the game of love, she finds it difficult to make the right choices and ends up falling for him.  Then he casts her aside, as though he’s tired of her, and goes off to the next town.”

“Wow, so hot, take me,” Takeshi deadpans into the body of the piano, his voice causing the strings to resonate and buzz along with his voice.  “That sounds nothing like you, Yuuri."

“Right?”  Yuuri cries, throwing down a sheet of paper too hard and blowing his other two piles askew.  “It’s going to be so awkward!”

“I mean, you did look pretty sexy in that video when you copied his piece,” Takeshi suggests.

“But I can’t compare,” Yuuri moans.  “I’ll never surpass him.”

“Wait, you really think you can beat him?”

_Ha!_

“No, no way!” Yuuri laughs dryly.  “No, Viktor and I are on two totally different levels.”

Takeshi chuckles.  “Yeah, well you’re really going to seduce him if you’re going to win.”

Yuuri is definitely going to be sick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
>  _cadenza_ \- cadence - an ornamented section at the end of a piece where the soloist shows off their artistic ability  
>  _da capo_ \- from the top - a term for the second repetition of a piece of music, usually where singers place embellishments to show off their artistic ability.  
>  _Salut, mon pétit chou_ \- Bye, my little cabbage (term of endearment)
> 
>  
> 
> If you like what you've read, I always appreciate kudos and comments! Hits let me know you're out there, Kudos let me know I have your attention, but Comments are the best way to show a writer your appreciation!
> 
> For nightly fic chapters and lots of reblogged YoI content, check out [my tumblr](http://kingfisherunion.tumblr.com)


	9. Quella fiamma che m'accende

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor relies on an old Lilia Baranovskaya tactic to help Yurio find his agape. Yuuri may have discovered his Eros.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [shows up six months later sipping the drink that made me late]
> 
> oh hey what up
> 
> I... I think I'm getting WAY back into this.
> 
> Thank you so much for sticking with me.
> 
> It's been a long time coming.

[Quella fiamma che m'accende](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6muBzH6RLNk)

 

The first few days of practice are hell.  Viktor messed up, Yuuri is avoiding him, they haven’t had a moment to themselves ever since they started this new event, and also—

“What? I’m doing it just like you showed me!” Yurio cries indignantly after Viktor stops _Voi che sapete_ for the fifth time.  The teen snatches his water bottle and pulls from it with a combative glare, hip popped.

“Stand up straight, Yurio,” Viktor groans.  “We’ll start again. It’s too arrogant. Cherubino’s name literally means baby angel.  From two measures before,” he instructs, gesturing vaguely at Yuuko, who nods and turns back to the music.

Yurio sucks his teeth, rolling his eyes as he adjusts his posture to something decidedly feminine but still not quite right.  As quickly as the disgust flashed across his face, it disappears, and in its place he wears a sweet, innocent expression as he starts into the first line.

[“Voi che sapete che cosa è amor, donne, vedete s’io l’ho nel cuor’!”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mDeFdGzthV0)

No, no, not right.  Viktor sighs.

“You look like you’re trying to act sweet,” he interrupts.  “I’m still not getting a sense of your agape.”

Yurio loses it at that, swiping his score off the music stand and sending it crashing to the floor.

“Don’t you think I fucking know that, old man?” He snaps.  

Viktor is ready to blow.  It’s only his first day exclusively coaching Yurio and they’ve been at odds for most of the rehearsal.  He’s worried they’re making Yuuko uncomfortable, stopping every few measures to spit back and forth in heated Russian while she sits and waits politely at the piano.  

“Look, it’s fine to perform with confidence, but it doesn’t fit every role,” he explains, warding off an impending headache with one hand tangled in his bangs.

“Oh, says Mr. Don Juan himself,” Yurio retorts.  “What’s agape to you, then, Viktor?”

Viktor could be spending this morning working with Yuuri to find his Eros, something he has been imagining ever since his first day at Yu-topia Katsuki, when he sat and waited with heated anticipation for Yuuri to come and join him in the onsen.  

Things keep going wrong for me, he thinks bitterly, rising from his seat to put on the little electric kettle he’d brought to maintain the ever-abundant supply of tea he needs to get through the day.  

But he knows that getting frustrated will only feed Yurio’s fire; this isn’t his first coaching with the boy.  He collects himself as he picks out a tea bag, willing himself to put on a mask of indifferent cheerfulness and turning to shrug off the question.

“It’s a feeling, of course, so I could never explain it in words.  Do you bother thinking about that when you sing? I thought Yakov would have you studying Stanislavsky by now.”  He chuckles at his own little quip. “Oh, but then again, Lilia taught the method acting classes, didn’t she?” 

It gives him a little rush of satisfaction to see the ire brewing in Yurio’s eyes as the teen shakes his head.

“You’re funny, Yurio,” he jabs through a smile.  Then, an absolutely evil idea pops into his head – something that would get Yurio, lovable brat that he was, out of his hair for a while, while at the same time nudging in the right direction thematically. 

Oh, it’s exactly the kind of thing Madame Lilia used to make him do in those horrible method classes.

Viktor knew he was too vulnerable to even approach breaking down Yurio on his own.  The kitten would come back at him with claws bared and sufficient ammunition to drag Viktor down with him.  But…

“Perhaps we need a temple,” he muses, remembering a time Lilia dragged him from their summer program in Tokyo out into the country to meditate on his character while receiving “encouragement” from the Buddhist monks.

Yurio could use some “encouragement” right upside his head.

And so they venture out, toward a temple recommended by Takeshi, an impromptu retreat of silent reflection, a day-camp where Viktor can drop off his Russian protege and return to the studio to get some of his more-preferred work done for a while.

It isn’t all a ploy.  It isn’t all getting Yurio out of the way and enacting some small act of retribution for the attitude and the cockblocking.  After all, at Yurio’s age, Viktor was just as hotheaded, just as overconfident in his skills, and Lilia’s methods of bringing out his humility, unconventional as they were, were instrumental in constructing the range of character that has earned him a number of roles, jobs, and awards.

He’s doing Yurio a favor.  And he might as well do himself a favor in the process.

He can hear the _snap_ of the keisaku as he walks back down to the car, the weight of a little bit of character training off his shoulders for the afternoon.  He wonders what he’s got on Yuuri’s schedule for this afternoon, whether he can switch it up a little and get him in the studio.

All he really wants is to bask in that magnificent feeling of studio time with Yuuri, productive and collaborative and distressingly intimate.  It has him wondering more and more each day if it’s even appropriate for him to be teaching this beautiful man one-on-one when he can hardly keep a handle on his own feelings, when he originally came to Hasetsu on what he thought was an over-the-top booty call.

But Yuuri’s eyes glitter like chatoyant gemstones when something clicks with him musically, he sings like music charges his soul, and Viktor wants to stick around to bear witness to those things as long as Yuuri will let him.

When he returns to the onsen for a little bit of lunch, he finds Yuuri is nowhere to be seen.  

“We haven’t seen him all morning,” Hiroko chirps, setting Viktor up with some barley tea and a dish of green tea poured over salmon and rice.  “It’s like high school all over again.” She chuckles, bending over to feed some scraps to Makkachin, and scurries about to clear dishes off of the nearby tables.

“How so?” Viktor asks, taking a sip from the bowl of… soup?  Rice? He’s not sure what this dish is, but it’s doing him right; it’s so simple and bland but that only brings out the pure flavors of the few ingredients used to make it.

Hiroko sits back on her heels, letting the dishes rest on the table in front of her.  Her cheeks go pink as she thinks back fondly, and Viktor thinks that even if things don’t work out with Yuuri, he may never leave Hasetsu if it means having to leave this amazing woman behind.  “After Minako took Yuuri to see his first competition in Tokyo, we could hardly get him to come home; he’d stay all day at her studio if we let him.”

“It sounds like he was really driven,” Viktor muses, flaking off a bit of salmon with the tips of his chopsticks.  Hiroko nods excitedly.

“Yes, yes, he always worked hard when he figured out what he wanted, she recalls.  “I think going with Minako and seeing you and the other older singers really sparked a desire to follow that path.  No one ever had to help him schedule or prepare for auditions, you know. He and Yuuko-chan did all of that themselves.  It drove Minako crazy,” she chuckles.

“I can imagine,” Viktor laughs.

“He really admires you, you know,” Hiroko says with a fond little smile.  She rises to her feet, gathering up her dishes, and turns toward the kitchen.  “I think having you here makes him really happy.”

Viktor’s chest swells.  To hear that from Yuuri’s mother is actually really assuring.  

And at the same time, he knows it means he has to be careful about the strange, competitive atmosphere he’s accidentally cultivated.  He needs Yuuri to know that Viktor is here for _him_ , because _he_ has a talent that Viktor cannot ignore, because _he_ is a man that Viktor, no matter how hard he tries, cannot ignore.

According to his planner, Yuuri’s in coachings with Minako all afternoon.  Viktor decides to let him go, to work out his pieces in a comfortable environment, before getting him alone and pushing him out of his element.

Instead, he decides to take care of Viktor for a while.  He takes Makkachin out for a walk along the beach, his shoes in one hand and her leash coiled up in another, ready in case she gets too excited.  The beach is lovely, even in the early summer, and even though the sand and the water are cold, Viktor loves the feel of them between his toes.

Makka bounds alongside him, sniffing at everything she can find and whining urgently as she follows some invisible scent trail or another, and Viktor realizes this vacation may have been a good move for her as well.  How often has he had to leave her at home, paying a neighbor to feed and walk her, or worse, in a kennel, her caretakers’ attention divided between dozens of other dogs, while he traveled for work?

Even when Viktor is home, Makkachin only gets to go outside on her leash, only when Viktor is available.  At the inn, she’s got the attention of the entire Katsuki family and their guests, and as a result, she’s outside playing all day long.

It’s strange to have an afternoon to himself, he thinks, brushing the sand off of his feet and slipping back into his loafers before trudging back up the hill to the road.  He can’t remember doing anything quite so leisurely back in St. Petersburg, unless he counts vegging out, exhausted, in front of the tv while he marked up scores.

The odd sense of relaxation he feels follows him back to the temple, where Yurio is (unsurprisingly) waiting for him down by the road, headphones, in, unwelcoming glare pasted on his pale little face.

Not even this glum little kitten can sully Viktor’s mood, not after Hiroko gave him such praise and a look into Yuuri’s past, not after seeing his own much-needed release reflected in his dog’s happy face.  He offers up a welcoming smile as Yurio climbs stiffly into the passenger’s seat.

“Learn anything?” he asks cheerfully, ignoring his student’s murmurous scowl as he pulls around and heads back toward the ryokan.

“I learned you’re a sadistic, petty asshole,” Yurio spits.  Honestly, he’s so dramatic. “Seriously, how am I supposed to meditate when I’m getting the shit smacked out of me by some old guy?”

“Hmm,” Viktor frowns.  “You must have been really good in church as a kid if you never got smacked,” he wonders aloud.

“Maybe you were just a shitty kid who didn’t listen,” Yurio retorts.

“Well hey, that makes two of us!” Viktor grins.  “Let’s forget about it for today. We’ll soak those poor shoulders in the onsen, have some food, and then you can go work it out in the practice room.”

Yurio snorts but doesn’t have any sort of comeback for that; he simply shifts in his seat and directs his sour expression out the window.

“Look,” Viktor sighs, “I know none of this makes any sense.  And I know this must seem irrational and impulsive—“

“It’s not my business,” Yurio interrupts.  Viktor knows him well enough; he shouldn’t be surprised by the teen’s bluntness, but still, for a moment as he drives, he’s caught off guard.

“...Wait, really?” He asks.  “You’ve seemed so mad.”

Yurio hums in response.  “I couldn’t give a damn what you do with your talent, Viktor,” he says, combing his fingers through long strands of golden hair.  “If you are just here for some fun, fine. If you really think that piglet has something going on that’s worth your personal _and_ professional time, fine.”  He shifts again, turning to face Viktor in the car.  From what Viktor can see without fully taking his eyes off the road, the young Russian looks completely sincere.  “Either way, don’t screw it up by breaking promises and dividing your time,” he says. His words sting as Viktor realizes he’s talking about his forgotten audition program.  “You broke my trust, and you’re never going to get Katsuki as a singer or as a… _shit_ , you know, whatever, if you aren’t going to be reliable.”

 _“Are you giving me a shovel talk?”_ Viktor asks incredulously.  He can hardly believe this. He’s a little insulted, and a little flattered, and he wants to cry, but he laughs instead, laughs hard enough that he can feel the tears start to sting at the corner of his eyes and he has to focus on breathing so he can drive.  

When he looks over, Yurio is beet-red.  “Shit, I’m just trying to be supportive,” he grumbles.  “Everyone else thinks you’re a piece of shit anyway, so…” he trails off, pressing his forehead against the window.  “Can we pick up some snacks at the convenience store? Mari was telling me about all this cool candy.”

 

* * *

 

Yuuri is home by the time they return to Yu-topia, pouring over a spread of scores and papers in the dining room, his earbuds in and a pencil tucked behind his right ear.

“He’s hard at work, I told you,” Hiroko murmurs as Viktor approaches.

Yuuri appears to be annotating the lyrics of his pieces, a neat little grid of notes around each line.  Viktor can see translations of each word into Japanese and English, as well as transliteration into the International Phonetic Alphabet.  Undoubtedly an assignment from Minako to perfect his diction. In the margins, there are even more notes, Viktor wonders if they’re questions, insights, or something else, something to do with the meaning behind the piece.

He wants to know now how Yuuri interprets his music, wants to hear how those interpretations are spun musically in Yuuri’s voice.

He’ll give himself one more day with Yurio, to make sure the kid is on the right track.  He’s a strong singer, and quick to memorize, and Viktor thinks he might be right about Viktor dividing his time.

Yuuri ought to know that Viktor’s rooting for him in this.  That he’s not going to give away his chances, and he’s certainly not going to give away the promise that he’d coach him.

Viktor drops down, cross legged, at the table next to Yuuri and tugs on one of the headphone wires with his pinkie, holding it up to his own ear to listen.

He’s grown used to Yuuri’s initial bristling at his touch.  He hasn’t quite grown used to how Yuuri has started to accept his closeness and melt into him afterward.

 _“Quella fiamma che m’accende,”_ he hums along as he peers down at Yuuri’s work.  “How is the program coming along today, dear Yuuri?”

“Good, I think,” Yuuri mutters, penning a character in at the end of the second stanza.  “Is this an open or a closed ‘E’ here, do you think?”

“Open, dark,” Viktor says flatly, snatching the pencil from behind Yuuri’s ear and writing the correct phonetic symbol in for him.  “Have you thought any more about what Eros means to you?”

 _“Jesus Christ,”_ Yurio breathes before stalking out toward the baths.

Yuuri shifts uncomfortably where he sits.  “I talked about it a bit with Minako,” he admits.  “I’m not sure I’m completely there yet, though.”

Viktor nods, a little disappointed.  But then again, what answer does he expect?

“My eros is champagne and karaoke and dancing with tall, blonde Russian men”?

No, Yuuri isn’t going to be so open about it, even if he knows.  Viktor understands that. He just wants to keep the idea in Yuuri’s head.  Keep him thinking about it, so that later, he can sing about it.

Viktor knows that the truth will come out in the music.

“Well, come take a bath with Yurio and me,” he says, tapping Yuuri on the head with the eraser of his pencil.  “We’ll debrief on what went well today.”

Yuuri nods, still not tearing his eyes away from his work.  “I’ll be right in.”

 _“Yuuri_ , come with me now!” Viktor whines.  “I want to tell you about the day I had with Makkachin!  I sent Yuuri to the temple to meditate and I got to relax all afternoon!  And Yuuri?”

Yuuri looks up from his work.   _There_ are those beautiful, mocha eyes, questioning and distracted as they are.

“Let’s drink tonight,” Viktor suggests.  He knows it’s a long shot. Yuuri is an unstoppable force and he has already had to remind Viktor numerous times about his strict diet.  “Once Yurio goes back to the studio, let’s you and me drink and unwind a little bit. I feel bad for pushing back your cheat day until after the event, so I thought we could have a half a one.”

Yuuri eyes him warily, and Viktor knew that was coming.  This may have been too bold a move to spring on Yuuri on the first day of practice.  If the past few weeks have shown him anything, now is the time when Yuuri pushes him away.  He’s ready to accept rejection; he bites the corner of his lip as minutely as he can as he waits for his reply.

“I could go for a drink right about now,” Yuuri admits, his words falling like a sigh from his lips and trailing a little giggle along behind them.  “Minako has never been easy on me, but she really pushed me hard today.”

Viktor is practically buzzing with excitement.  Drinks with Yuuri! Again! And alone, for all it’s worth, with Yurio hanging around!  This day, which started sour and grueling, has only gotten better and better. “That’s good,” he says, trying not to sound _too_ thrilled, _too_ relieved.  “Doesn’t it feel amazing?”  He stands up and holds out his hand, partially to prevent himself from leaning full-on into Yuuri’s shoulder right here at the table, and partially because he really would like to soak and talk with his singers before dinner.

Yuuri takes it and stands, and Viktor can’t help but give his fingers a little squeeze before letting go.

  


* * *

  
  


Yuuri doesn’t get it, falling to his knees at the dinner table, the enticing smell of katsudon wafting in to tempt him from the kitchen.

Their long soak in the baths eased his sore abs, but it also left him ravenous, and he still had a few days until he could cheat again.  He slumps against the table as Viktor brings a couple of dishes over; chicken breast and steamed vegetables for the countertenors, and an extra-large bowl of katsudon for their coach.

Yuuri’s an adult, damn it.  He should be able to talk about what passionate, physical love means to him.  He should be able to express his own mature sexiness in a way that’s believable, right?

Like this.  This afternoon was sexy, sharing the hot spring together, Viktor pouring the steaming water over his muscles with his cupped hands.

Right?

He can imagine the situations.  He’s not sheltered by any means, and it certainly isn’t something he hasn’t thought about before.

(Sex, that is.)

Or drinking together late into the evening, sleepy and silly and letting their walls fall away casually, little by little.  That’s pretty sexy.

Waking up one morning to find the man you’ve idolized for years waiting naked for you in your baths.

Yuuri is just fine at identifying things that inspire his erotic love.

He just can’t tell Viktor any of them.  There’s no way! What’s he supposed to say?  “My idea of Eros is all the things you’re currently doing to drive me crazy?”

Embarrassing.

No, more than embarrassing, it’s _shameful_ , because Viktor is here as a professional, working hard to help Yuuri kickstart his career, and all Yuuri can think about is how exciting it would be if Viktor had ulterior motives that involved whisking him away to do steamy things in secret.

He’s not open about sex like Viktor.  He’s not able to play his sexuality like it’s its own instrument.  He certainly doesn’t know how to use it to make another person want him.

He knows he’s dealing with bigger questions than he’s capable of tackling in only a couple of days.  He’s not sure he could get to a place in the next week where he’s capable of being honest about his feelings, even if he never has to say it out loud.  Just the idea of singing with those images in his mind while having to look Viktor in the eye is out of the question.

It’s no good,  from a physical standpoint, he’s not even close to Eros.  Eros… the word swirls in his brain like the swirling steam of the onsen.  Yuuri’s certain he’s not sheltered, not repressed or anything, but that entire idea just isn’t something that comes naturally to him.  

Forget what Yuuri finds sexy, what would Viktor consider Eros?  What does Yuuri have to do to show Viktor he understands what it means?  Is it an air or physicality he can put on without having to become emotionally attached?  Or does Viktor really expect him to tap into a wellspring of experience to access familiar feelings?

Yuuri doesn’t know.  He hopes he can find something tonight, when the alcohol has loosened him up a little bit, or else he’s going to have nothing by the time he and Viktor have their first session.

So he sits and stares at his vegetables, breathing in the intoxicating smell of Viktor’s half-eaten katsudon and meditating on Eros.

From what he can tell from his limited experience and from the clues he can pick up from the music, Eros is an obsession, an inability to make normal decisions, a want that you can feel with your very being.

“Katsudon…” Yuuri groans half-consciously, glaring daggers at his greens, wishing he could turn them into the heavy, carby comfort meal he’d usually turn to in such a stressful time.  He’s very seriously considering crawling over the table and sitting in Viktor’s lap just to block and intercept access to _his_ favorite dinner, _his_ mother’s cooking, and something Viktor swooped in and snatched out of his chubby little hands when he realizes he may have found his “as if.”

He doesn’t have to sing as if he’s thinking about Viktor.  That’s too real, it’d never come out right. No one looks at quiet, hopeful pining and says “eros.”

But Yuuri has considered killing for katsudon before, and he’s certain at this very moment that he can feel his want for the dish in every fiber of his being.  There’s a katsudon-shaped hole in Yuuri’s life, and thanks to Viktor, he’s never going to taste it again if he doesn’t start winning some competitions.

That sexy pork cutlet bowl is leading him along on a string, playing with his very emotions… at this very moment it’s the most enticing, unobtainable, _powerful_ force in his life besides wet, pink lips and perfectly-set silver hair.  

“I get it now…” he mumbles, sitting up and pounding his fist down on the table.  “I get it! Katsudon! That’s what Eros is to me!”

There’s a silence as Viktor and Yurio take in what he’s just said.  It’s long enough that Yuuri knows he’s just spewed some hot nonsense; maybe, as silly as it sounds, the Katsudon Theory will work after all.

But not before he dies of embarrassment, because Yurio and Viktor are just _gaping_ at him, unable to find the words to dignify such a bizarre and incomprehensible statement.  And he said it _just like that_ , so matter-of-factly as if it were perfectly normal to sit among friends and fantasize about fried pork, perfectly crispy yet juicy when you bite into it… eggs so fluffy and flavorful from mixing with the tonkatsu sauce… the little bit of flavor that seeps down into the rice by the time you’re done with all the toppings to finish the meal out right… God, Yuuri can’t even be embarrassed without his mouth watering.

Maybe he really is just that weird.

“Oh… Sorry, it’s not like--” he stammers, but Viktor and Yurio burst into laughter.

“No, let’s go with that!” Viktor giggles, and he’s got a bit of egg stuck to the corner of his mouth that Yuuri, were he a bolder man, would love to lick off, just to get a hint of the flavor he’s missing.  “It’s different, it’s nice and unique!”

This training diet is going to kill him.

“Seriously?” Yurio snickers.  “Ooh baby, fried pork! I thought I liked you, Katsudon, you’ve got a freaky side!”

This competition is going to kill him.

“Of course,” Viktor sniffs, wiping the tears from his eyes and surreptitiously licking at the corner of his mouth the get the little bit of scrap that was stuck there, “I would never ask you to tell me what you’re thinking about when you sing, as long as it’s working.  If the audience can feel it, it isn’t going to matter to them what’s fueling the feeling.”

Yuuri is ready for the ground to open up and swallow him whole.  Viktor is going to be the death of him, with his stupid, beautiful face greasy from katsudon, or the little bit of pectoral peeking out from his improperly-tied jinbei, or the perfectly accepting smile that’s blooming as his initial shock fades, letting Yuuri know it’s okay, he can want what he wants, as long as it helps him to make beautiful music.

“Okay, Yurio, I think it’s time you got to the practice room,” Viktor continues, wheezing a little from the grease and the laughter.  “I went a little too easy on you this afternoon, but I won’t be so lenient tomorrow.”

“Tch.”  Yurio sucks his teeth and shovels the rest of his plate into his mouth before getting to his feet.  “Why doesn’t Katsudon have to do evening practice?”

“Yuuri has gone to the practice room every night this week while you and I went on our phones,” Viktor points out, “and I know full well he got his ass kicked by Minako this afternoon.”

“I got my ass kicked by some random old guy with a stick!” Yurio retorts.  “Whatever. If you two are just going to drink and get sloppy, I don’t want to be here, anyway.”

“We’ll be talking about Eros!” Viktor beams.  Yuuri tries to look as apologetic as possible on his behalf, because he certainly doesn’t want Yurio to feel left out, but Viktor did come here for _him_ before he started giving half his time away to the Russian kid.  

Yuuri’s never let himself be greedy before.  He sort of wants to try.

“Wow, a real fucking gathering of the minds that will be,” Yurio sighs.  “That sounds disgusting. You’ve sold me on going to the practice room, anyway.  Gotta see if you managed to beat any _agape_ into me.”

As the words fall from Yurio’s lips, heavy with disdain and sharp as kitchen knives, Viktor droops a bit.  “Yurio,” he murmurs, “please don’t be rude to our host, it’s really unbecoming.”

Yurio snorts, scooping up his bag where he dropped it earlier that afternoon and stalking over to the door.  “Katsudon, I hope you don’t feel I’m being rude to you,” he calls. “That big idiot is my only target; I’m just not a very good aim.  Viktor, I’ll see you tomorrow. Try not to be too hung-over, please?”

And with that, he slips out the door, leaving a baffled Yuuri and a quietly contemplative Viktor in his wake.

 

 

* * *

  


**PeachY:**  
I’m sorry, you told them what now?

 

 **KatsudonYuuri:**  
I told them that KATSUDON is the embodiment of what EROS means to me.  
As in, “damn, that’s one sexy pork cutlet bowl.”  
As in, “I’m a little kid who’s never thought about sex before but I sure do love to eat!”

 

 **PeachY:**  
Eek, yeah, that’s definitely what that sounds like XD  
Why didn’t you just say Viktor and finally get some things moving between you two?

 

 **KatsudonYuuri:**  
Right, because that’s so professional.

 

 **PeachY:**  
The first thing he did was show you his dick, Yuu!  
I swear, if one of you doesn’t make a move soon, I’m going to get Yuuko to lock you in a practice room together.  
No opening the door until the window’s fogged up and one of you pulls a Titanic.

 

 **KatsudonYuuri:**  
We’re having drinks tonight.  
Should I say something?

 

 **PeachY:**  
YES  
You should say, “Did you know Japan’s famous for its fireworks? Let me show you some.”  
And then drag him to your room and jump his bones!

 

 **KatsudonYuuri:**  
Peach, I’m not saying that.

 

 **PeachY:** **  
** You deserve it, even if he doesn’t.

 

 **KatsudonYuuri:**  
I don’t know.  
If winning this competition is going to get him to stay, I don’t really want to play around with other variables until then.

 

 **PeachY:**  
My baby.  Always so cautious.  
All I’m saying, is it’s okay to throw caution to the wind sometimes.  
It’s healthy.

 

 **KatsudonYuuri:**  
Maybe Tequila Yuuri should take over.  
He’s so much better at this kind of thing.

 

 **PeachY:**  
Tequila Yuuri is only allowed out once a year and you wasted him on Sochi.

 

 **KatsudonYuuri:**  
Technically, that was last year.

 

 **PeachY:**  
If you only flirt with him drunk, he’s just going to think you’re a flirty drunk.

 

 **KatsudonYuuri:**  
To be fair, I AM a flirty drunk.

 

 **PeachY:**  
No, baby, you are so much more than that.

So, so much more.

  


* * *

  
  


Yuuri giggles as Viktor pours him another glass of shochu, his legs curled under himself as he mirrors the Russian’s relaxed position.  He can feel himself reaching the limit where he should have stopped last time, somewhere in between two drinks and his own half-bottle, but, like last time, he’s having too much fun.  He and Viktor are sprawled out together around Makka, who’s basking in attention from both sides.

Yuuri thinks it must be lovely to be the victim of Viktor’s tipsy affection.  Makkachin is in absolute heaven, gathering a semi-automatic barrage of kisses and nuzzles and squeezes from her owner, panting happily with her tongue lolling out of her mouth.

“You know I didn’t really… I didn’t mean it like that,” Yuuri hums, flopping over on his side to press his own face into the soft curls of Makka’s fur.  “It’s not like I think… I have other ideas of Eros, I mean.”

“Oh?” Viktor chuckles, sitting up to pour his own glass.  “It’s not like I don’t get it, Yuuri. I made some pretty inexcusable noises the first time I tasted katsudon.”

“But… Oh,” Yuuri mumbles.  He meant to turn this into something coy and inviting, but he’s not sure what to say next.  “Yeah, I guess.”

“Come on, let’s do another, cheers!” Viktor holds up his glass and waits for Yuuri to do the same.  “To finding your true, indisputable Eros--the only thing that truly ignites the passion of your flesh and the--”  
“Hey!  Shut up!” Yuuri laughs, launching himself at Viktor before he can be teased any further.  The glasses clatter to the floor and Makkachin startles, scampering away with a yelp as Yuuri jumps past her, knocking Viktor onto his back.  “I told you I have other ideas of Eros!” he squeaks.

Viktor gulps, and Yuuri can feel, rather than see, his eyes rake up and down Yuuri’s body looming over him.  Yuuri’s vaguely aware, somewhere beyond the buzz of the shochu, that he’s way out of line, but something’s driving him on, some point he needs to hammer home to Viktor before he can back off.

Something like, “I want you to see I’m ready to show you my Eros.”  Or, “I really can’t afford for you to believe I’m attracted to pork bowls.” Or, “It’s been a few weeks and I’m starting to get sick of wondering what this is supposed to be.”

Phichit was right.  One of them has to make a move.  And if it takes shochu to help, well then.  With Viktor supine and speechless beneath him, Yuuri crawls forward until they’re eye to eye, caging him in with hands planted firmly on the floor, letting him sweat a little bit as he waggles his hips shamelessly.

He used to play this particular game of chicken with Chris and Phichit on their summer program movie nights.  How close can he get before he or Viktor chickens out and pulls away?

(Of course, as he learned too quickly playing with Chris, whoever’s on bottom doesn’t have room to pull back.)

Straddling one of Viktor’s legs, hips thrust back, Yuuri watches the shallow rise and fall of Viktor’s chest, the flush of vibrant pink, a stark contrast against the pale white that spreads from his ears and cheeks down the column of his throat, and jeez, if this wasn’t just chicken, Yuuri would be _thirsty_ for that delicious expanse of skin.  

When Viktor swallows hard again and swoons beneath him, eyes closed, Yuuri’s name hot on his breath, Yuuri knows he’s chickening out first.  He’s dangerously close, close enough that he can smell the sour liquor on Viktor’s breath. It’s a powerful feeling, one he wants to chase at the risk of making some incredibly irresponsible choices, but this is enough to get him through to the end of the competition.

Yuuri’s pretty sure he can draw from this tension for the next hundred years without tiring.  He laughs at the sight of Viktor tipping his chin up, jaw slack, lips thrust out in an irresistible pout like he’s just waiting for Yuuri’s mouth to make contact…

...and the wide-eyed surprise when Yuuri pulls back, something akin to disappointment.  Yuuri’s never seen him so nervous, but he likes it.

“That’s how it feels when you eat katsudon in front of me,” Yuuri teases, sitting back on his heels and reaching for the upturned glasses.  “That’s gotta be something like Eros, right?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *evil laugh*
> 
> Once again, I was so insistent this was gonna be canon-compliant but then again...
> 
> It's more fun this way!

**Author's Note:**

> If you like what you've read, I always appreciate kudos and comments! Hits let me know you're out there, Kudos let me know I have your attention, but Comments are the best way to show a writer your appreciation!
> 
> For nightly fic chapters and lots of reblogged YoI content, check out [my tumblr](http://kingfisherunion.tumblr.com)


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